


Accepting the Risk of Absence

by johnwatso, Salambo06



Series: The Things We Meant to Say [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Ignores The Final Problem completely, M/M, Partly Epistolary, Post-Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, Top John, Top Sherlock, eurus doesn't exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-10-14 03:09:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 21,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10527597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnwatso/pseuds/johnwatso, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: Sherlock and John have finally found each other, but figuring out exactly what they want from each other can be more complicated than expected. Will their love be able to withstand the hardships they haven't accounted for? Part 2 ofOur Deal.





	1. John - 24th of July

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a collab between Pauline [ggaypilot](http://ggaypilot.tumblr.com) as John and [johnwatso](http://johnwatso.tumblr.com) as Sherlock. It's part 2 of [_Our Deal_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10166372/chapters/22584437), where we'll be showing a bit more behind the scenes of the letters, but still continuing with the epistolary format partly.

John rubs a hand over his face, letting his head fall back against the seat and sighing. He can’t wait to be home, to finally let the stress of the day fade away and hold both Sherlock and Rosie in his arms. He doesn’t know why he even tried, the clinic is much too far from Baker Street, and the job not that interesting, but he had to give it a chance, just in case. It’s not that he’s desperate to work. If he listens to himself, he’ll be staying at home all day, particularly if it involves long mornings in bed with one gorgeous consulting detective. But no, Sherlock and him had talked the whole evening before and decided that John needed a job, needed to have something to keep him away from home a few hours a day. Even if the novelty of their relationship is still making their head spin and their blood rush to a certain body part every bloody second, they couldn’t stay together 24/7. It would be fooling themselves to think they weren’t going to drive each other mad at some point.

Still, John is now going to stop extending his search area. He didn’t want to have to ride the train or bus for hours just to get home after work. First of all, Rosie is still adapting to her new home, and even if she seems to get on rather well with Sherlock, she continues to search for him all day if he’s gone too long (Sherlock wrote so in his new journal dedicated to Rosie only). Plus, there’s Sherlock. Sherlock whom he can’t wait to kiss, to push against the nearest wall and melt into him. It’s only been a few hours, but John can already feel this aching need for _him_ again.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and with a smile, John hurries to unlock it.

**17:56**

When are you planning to be back? SH

 

John barely has the time to start typing a reply and a new message comes in.

 

**17:56**

The residents of 221B are starting to seriously miss you. SH

 

Letting out a quiet laugh, John replies.  


**17:57**

I’m on the bus. Shouldn’t take long now.

**17:57**

This whole business was rather dreadful, John, and a waste of time. SH

I told you so. This job wasn’t for you. SH

**17:58**

I know you did, and I should have listened to you.

I’ll find something, just have to keep looking.

I was thinking we could go out for dinner. The two of us?

**17:59**

Yes. SH

I’d like that. SH

I’ve been wanting to ask actually. SH

John’s smile widens. It is still so very new, being able to ask Sherlock to dinner and meaning it as a date. The idea has been growing inside his head for a few days, not sure if Sherlock would even like going on a date, but then practically all the dinners they shared over the years had been dates. Sounds like Sherlock had been pondering the same question all along.  


**18:00**

I’m sure Mrs Hudson wouldn’t mind taking care of Rosie for the evening.

**18:00**

Going to ask her now. SH

Hurry up. SH

I really do miss you. SH

**18:01**

Miss you too, love. I’ll be home soon. 

John waits for another few seconds in case Sherlock has more to say before putting his phone back inside his pocket. He fidgets with the rim of his jacket, wondering if he should call Angelo’s and reserve a table, but he’s certain the man is always keeping Sherlock’s table ready, just in case. John finds himself thinking back to that first dinner, of the candle on the table and Sherlock’s profile as he kept a careful eye on what was happening outside. It could have been so easy, reaching out for him and kissing him, right there. So easy, and yet the distance between them had felt infinite. Had continued to feel that way for all the years after that.

Shaking his head, John gets up and makes his way to the bus’ doors. He tries not to look too impatient to get off, and convinces himself he really can’t run back home, but it doesn’t stop him from walking rather fast as soon as the bus stops and the doors open. Baker Street is just down the corner, but it still feels too bloody far. His keys already in hand, John almost trip over a hole in the pavement as he finally arrives in front of the door. Just as he’s about to insert key into the keyhole, the door flies open and one large hand drags him inside.

“Sherlock, what a-”

A pair of lips crash against his as Sherlock pushes him back against the now closed door, and John doesn’t think once about complaining. He lets his lips part slowly, Sherlock’s tongue tracing both of them hungrily, and moans softly. God, he missed this. It’s quite incredible, just how much he’s become addicted to Sherlock’s kisses, to the feeling of him pressed against his body, of his hands around his neck and his breath hot against his face.

“I saw you coming down the street,” Sherlock pants against his lips when he pulls away, resting their foreheads together.

John smiles, eyes still closed, “I’m glad you did.”

He feels Sherlock smiling against his lip, “I’ve missed you.”

John laughs this time, a joyful sound that he had no idea he could make, “I can see that. But I was hoping you’d miss me a bit more, kiss me a bit more.”

Sherlock brushes their mouths together, “That can be arranged.”

John licks at Sherlock’s lips, pulling on it ever so lightly, “Good.”

They kiss for another minute or maybe hours, John can’t know for sure, but when Rosie’s bambling makes its way from upstairs and Sherlock pulls away, John sighs in protest.

“She missed you too,” Sherlock whispers, not moving away yet.

“I’ve missed her too,” John says. “I’m not used to be away from her.”

They remain still for another moment, lips meeting and parting slowly until they can no longer ignore the noises coming from upstairs. Sherlock grabs his hand and holds onto it as they climb the stairs together. Rosie greets them both with a huge smile and grabby hands, laughing the moment John takes her in his arms.

“Hello again sweetheart,” he smiles, kissing her temple softly. “How was your afternoon?”

Rosie rambles for another moment, gesturing towards Sherlock and then the kitchen. John holds back a laugh, “Worked on some experiment?”

He feels Sherlock move closer, one of his hands sliding up his back and resting on his nape, “She tried to help, but the different degree of skin decomposition was a bit too hard for her to understand. Still, I’m sure she’ll soon make a wonderful assistant.”

“We’ll see about that,” John replies, turning to face him. Unable to resist the urge anymore, he leans in for another kiss. “I should go get ready for our date.”

Sherlock’s breath catches against his lips as he pulls away, eyes searching his face and John’s smile grows wider. “I can’t wait, you know.”

Sherlock’s own lips curl into a smile, “Me too.”

They stare at each other for long seconds, John finding he can’t move anymore. He wants to kiss him again, to peel all of Sherlock’s clothes off of him and discover all of him once more. Sherlock must be able to read his every thought, and he takes a step back, reaching for Rosie and clearing his throat, “I’ll take her down to Mrs Hudson.”

John licks his lips, “Yeah. Alright. I’ll just…” He points towards their bedroom absently.

Sherlock gives a sharp nod, “Yes.”

They both remain still for another moment and then Sherlock all but grabs Rosie and runs down the stairs again.

“Fuck,” John curses silently, shaking his head and willing himself to chase the image of Sherlock’s naked body spread on their bed. “Get a hold of yourself, Watson.”

Taking off his jacket, he makes his way to the bathroom and turns on the shower. He quickly goes to their bedroom, finding some nice and fresh clothes, before going back. The hot water makes him whimper, his entire body finally relaxing as he closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy the moment. He almost misses the sound of the door opening. Almost.

“Sherlock?” His eyes flutter open again, just in time to see Sherlock get rid of his shirt and trousers. “Coming in?” John teases, finding himself already growing harder just at the sight of Sherlock’s bare torso.

“You’re the one to blame, John,” Sherlock replies, now taking his pants and socks off.

John laughs, backing himself against the wall to let Sherlock inside, “I’m not complaining.”

Sherlock gives him a hungry look, “Good.”

Their mouths crash together again, John immediately pushing himself off the wall and switching their places. Sherlock moans into the kiss as John presses them against one another, locking their hips together and thrusting. Being still all brand new, John finds them both already hard, his own cock aching for more. He slides one hand down Sherlock’s chest, hip and pushes his knee up.

“John,” Sherlock pants, locking his leg around his waist and rocking back against him.

“You’re so beautiful,” John whispers, lips now attached to Sherlock’s neck. “So beautiful.”

Sherlock is breathing heavily in his ear, still rocking against him and both of his hands now on John’s arse. This is only the third time they’ve tried shower sex, and if it’s not the most practical place to taste and touch all of each other, John finds that he really, really likes it. He loves the feeling of Sherlock shaking in his arms, so very warm and wanting. He loves the way their bodies slide together, so easily, making it harder to take it slow. _Not that neither of us want it slow_ , John thinks with a grin and sucks at Sherlock’s pulse point.

“Oh god, John,” Sherlock moans, resting his head back against the wall. “More, please.”

John thrusts against him faster, their cocks sliding against each other with every movement. He knows they don’t need much more, that they’re already so bloody close, and the thought makes his cock throb. He takes back Sherlock’s mouth, kissing him hungrily and tightening his hold around him.

“Don’t fall,” he smiles against his lips, marveling at the realisation that sex with Sherlock involves so much joy.

“I’m not going to fall, John,” Sherlock replies with a long moan. “You got me.”

“Yeah,” John pants, heat pooling down his abdomen, “I got you.”

Sherlock presses them harder, rocks back faster and goes entirely still as he comes between their stomachs.

“I love you, fuck, I love you,” John pants, eyes fixed on Sherlock’s face and committing everything to memory.

“ _John_ ,” Sherlock whimpers, shaking more than ever, and John pulls away, not wanting to overwhelm his now over-sensitive cock. “No, don’t,” Sherlock protests immediately, and pushes back against him.

John is about to explain when one of Sherlock’s hands closes around him, stroking him in long and hard movements. All of the air leaves his lungs as John finds his own release, Sherlock’s name on his lips and his legs shaking. It takes another minute before he’s aware of his surroundings again, and then, Sherlock kissing his shoulder softly.

“I love you too,” he whispers, and John smiles.

“I was supposed to get clean,” he says.

Sherlock shrugs, “Boring.”

John’s laughter dies into another kiss. They slowly wash each other, John discovering a new sensitive patch of Sherlock’s skin and teasing him for long minutes as they both giggle in the shower. It almost feels as if time has somehow stopped, letting them catch up on all the years they’ve wasted, and for just a small eternity, they’re finally getting it right.


	2. Sherlock - 24th of July

John is distracted. After their amazing shower together, they’d finished getting ready for their date and walked all the way to Angelo’s hand in hand but, now that they’re sat at their usual table, John isn’t himself and Sherlock senses it right away. 

At first, he says nothing and tries to bring John out of his shell on his own terms. He knows what it’s like to be trapped inside your own thoughts, after all, so he lets him be. Eventually, though, as he’s telling John a story involving Rosie’s meltdown over not wanting to eat butternut that had touched rice earlier, he can see that John isn’t listening. He usually loves hearing about his and Rosie’s adventures together, always being the first to ask about them, and this silence can only mean one thing.

“John,” he starts, and John looks up at him from his plate of barely-touched food. “What’s wrong?”

John sighs softly, and if it were anyone else in the world, it would go unnoticed, but this is John and Sherlock doesn’t miss a beat when it comes to him.

He stares at him pointedly, waiting patiently for an answer.

“Hmm? Oh, nothing…” John gestures with his fork all the  _ nothing  _ that is apparently wrong and crams some more gnocchi down his throat, barely chewing before he swallows, like he just wants to get it out of the way.

“John,” Sherlock starts, “We agreed.”

“You’re right,” John almost whispers, sighing again. “I know you’re right. It’s just… It’s nothing major…”

“Well?”

“I just… Ever since we sat down, I’ve not been able to stop thinking about all the times we’ve come here in the past. More specifically, the first time. The things we said to each other and the way we started this… this thing. How wrong it was and how much time we’ve wasted. I hate…” He seems to be struggling to find the words, his left hand dropping his fork and clenching and unclenching where it lies on the table. Sherlock gently takes it in his, loosens John’s grip and strokes his palm reassuringly, willing him to continue. “I just hate that we wasted so much time. Everything got so far away from us and now I can’t help but think about all the years spent not doing  _ this _ .”

“I know, John. I’ve felt the same way, in the past,” Sherlock replies as softly as he can, wanting John to understand just how brilliant they are now and how this is all that matters. “But I eventually had to reframe it in my mind and realise that I’d rather focus on what we  _ do  _ have now than think about what we didn’t have then.”

“I know. You’re right, I know, and I’m sorry,” John says with a smile. “Christ, sometimes I get so stuck in my own busy head that I must be a right misery to be around.”

“I don’t mind,” Sherlock says softly, and he means it. He knows what it’s like to have a busy head, to be trapped with your thoughts for hours and hours. “I just wish I could make it better somehow.”

“You do,” John insists, reaching over to give Sherlock’s hand a tight squeeze. “Believe me, you really do.”

“John, is this a ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ kind of speech?” Sherlock smiles lightly.

John laughs, digging into his meal with a bit more enthusiasm this time.

They don’t let go of each other’s hands yet, and the rest of the evening passes much easier from then, both of them smiling and speaking easily. John tells Sherlock about his horrible day and Sherlock recounts stories of Rosie’s behaviour from earlier that afternoon, a light smile dancing around the corners of his eyes every time he speaks about her.

It’s perfect, really. Even Sherlock can see that. After everything they’ve been through, there’s nothing more they need than a normal, casual dinner. Coming home to Rosie and 221B. Their chairs, their refrigerator with the severed fingers and the takeaway and the spoiled milk, their bedroom with the clothing and the experiments of a different nature and the books lying open and face down on the bedside table, marking a place in lieu of a bookmark. 

Their bed. Sherlock feels his lips curl into an even broader smile as he recalls the hours spent in that bed, sleeping and not. It’s as though a whole world could revolve around this shared space and sometimes, Sherlock likes to think it does. Just four days ago, they remained in bed the entire day while Rosie was out with Molly. It all started when Sherlock brought them their tea and coffee there and John had grabbed his arm, prompting him to climb back in next to him for a proper kiss and cuddle. Both of them naturally turning into much more. When eventually, at around noon, Sherlock had told John he needed to go shower and get ready for the day, John simply said, “Skip the shower, skip the day, let’s just stay here until it’s time for Rosie to come home.”

“But what about - ”

“There’s literally nothing in the world you need worry about today, Sherlock,” John had smiled, kissing him some more.

Sherlock had slowly started warming up to the idea, the brilliant, perfect, mad idea of spending an entire day in bed with John, of having John all to himself and not having to be anywhere or achieve anything. John, of course, must have sensed this warming and declared with a grin, “See, you get it.”

“Alright, John, but let’s set some rules first.”

“Rules? Like what?”

“Like…” Sherlock thought, nipping his lower lips and not missing the way John’s eyes were drawn to the movement. “No excessive contemplation,” he finally said. 

“No texting,” John chimed it, “Unless it’s about Rosie.”

“No technology whatsoever. Unless it’s about Rosie,” Sherlock agreed.

“No clothes.”

“No clothes. Yes.”

John had smiled and Sherlock had realised, right there, that he could truly not imagine anything else making him happier. He had leaned over to meet John’s lips and whispered, “You make me so happy.”

John kissed him in answer, slow and deep and lazy. They had a whole day to fill, after all.

And fill it, they did. At one point, John was reading his book and suddenly looked up and asked him, “Do you think there’s one person for everybody in the world?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied automatically, busy poring over an old notebook of his and not even looking up.

“Really?”

“Obviously.”

“What’s so obvious about it?”

At John’s exasperated tone, Sherlock had sighed and set his notebook on the bed, bending the corner of a page before closing it.

“John. I’m not a romantic man. You know that. But I do believe there has to be some kind of order or sense to be made of our situation. Plus,” he added casually, “I can’t imagine there ever being anybody but you.

If John’s eyes misted up a little, neither of them had commented on it, instead choosing to kiss the other’s cheeks and eyes and noses, each kiss eventually becoming more heated and desperate, culminating in a release filled with pleasure that only the other is able to elicit.

_ Yes, _ Sherlock thinks, now waiting for John in bed and staring up at the ceiling. So many first times happened right here, the white sheets and soft pillows being the only witnesses of the hours they’ve spent loving each other. It takes another few minutes for John to finally join him, and then it’s with warm kisses and tender touches that Sherlock finds sleep in his arms, unaware of the old scars that are about to ache again.

_ Concrete. Concrete and the smell of chemicals. What chemicals? Can’t tell. Distracted. Why? Pain. Where? Wrists, back, legs, neck, head. Source? Chains, cuts, muscular strain, whiplash, bruising. More pain. Fresh blood. Fresh cuts. Laughter, his laughter, not him, anybody but him. Cruel laughter, garbled Serbian, fresh blood, fresh cuts, not him, anybody but him, wrists, back, legs, neck, head, Serbian, garbled Serbian, fresh cuts, blood, lots of blood, garbled Serbian, wrists, back, legs… _

“No! No!  _ Please!”  _ Sherlock wakes himself up with his gut-wrenching screaming. He’s used to this, in that it’s happened often enough, but also not used to it in the sense that he’s alright with or made any kind of lasting peace with it. 

Through his heaving sobs and half-breaths, he can hear someone else is in the room, almost as though they’re in the distance. 

“Sherlock, I’m here, love, I’m right here.”

A hand is on his back, and he immediately scrambles away, escaping the  _ pain, back, fresh blood, fresh cuts, garbled Serbian, not him _ . 

“Sherlock. Deep breaths, my love. I’m right here, right next to you. Shall I turn on the lamp?”

A light goes on, harsh in Sherlock’s eyes, reminding him of  _ Tell us!  _ and  _ Right now!  _ He flinches, covering his face with both hands.

“Alright, love, I’m turning it off. Just. Can you breathe deeply for me, love? Please?”

Somewhere in the back of Sherlock’s mind, he registers that it’s  _ warm, safe, yes, love, trust,  _ so he listens to the voice and sucks in deep, even breaths, coming to himself and his environment with each exhale.

_ John _ .

He uncovers his face and looks to the other side of the bed, where John is reaching out with one hand, tentatively wanting to touch but knowing not to, his eyes spelling out concern and his mouth downturned, as if in an unfortunate question. 

Holding back his next sob, Sherlock murmurs a soft, “Sorry,” before sliding back to his usual position, perfectly eager for John to turn around and go back to sleep, pretending this never happened. But John has other plans.

“Sherlock, love, there’s nothing to be sorry for. Don’t be ridiculous,” John says, bridging the gap between them and placing both hands on Sherlock’s shoulders. 

He rests his forehead on Sherlock’s as Sherlock closes his eyes tight, willing the lump in his throat to vanish. 

“Can I hold you now?”

Sherlock nods lightly, not opening his eyes. If he can’t see John, maybe John won’t be able to tell how shaken he feels. He knows from past experience that it always takes him a while to fully calm down after one of his dreams and he finds himself wishing he could be alone for it, if only to save face. John and him have only just worked through their issues, after all, and he doesn’t want to turn him off. For John to see his pain and his fears written plainly and to want to run.

“Love, it’s alright. Just let go. I’ve got you,” John says instead, prompting the well of sobs Sherlock has been hiding within him to spring forth, unbridled. 

John patiently holds him through each heaving cry, rubbing his back and intermittently muttering, “Shhh,” and, “That’s it, I’ve got you now,” which only serves to make Sherlock’s cries last longer for the relief of it.

Once he manages to calm down a bit, John lays back down, bringing Sherlock to rest on his shoulder, never letting go for even a second. 

“Feeling a bit better?” he asks, planting a kiss on Sherlock’s temple.

“Sorry,” Sherlock mutters again.

“Sherlock, I told you - there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“I didn’t want… I never wanted you to see me like this,” he replies, more into John’s shirt than the open.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I love you even more for it?”

“No,” Sherlock snorts.

“Well, it’s true. I love every part of you, Sherlock. Not just the clever parts or the brilliant, shining parts, but the ugly parts you spoke about in your letters, too. All. Of. It,” John punctuates the last three words with kisses to his brow, and he actually believes him. 

It’s difficult for Sherlock to accept this, in truth, since he’s spent so much of his life believing and knowing that the struggles he has faced have mainly proven to be an inconvenience to those around him - his social struggles, his addiction, his time away… All of it something hideous not to be spoken about. But with John… With John’s it’s different. Everything with John is different.

“Thank you,” Sherlock says sincerely, wiping the last of his tears on John’s t shirt.

“Ready to go back to sleep?”

“I don’t think so,” Sherlock replies, knowing full well that trying to sleep more now will only land him back in Serbia. “Perhaps I better get up so you can get some sleep, though.”

“No. Stay,” John insists, tightening his grip. “Don’t go anywhere.”

They’re both silent for a long time, John stroking soothing circles on Sherlock’s back and Sherlock trying to focus on being present, on enjoying the sensation and the smell of John and the sound of his own heartbeat hammering loudly in his ears. Grounding himself in the safe reality of the present instead of drifting back into his dreams and thoughts.

“Do you want to talk about it?” John eventually asks softly.

“Absolutely not.”

“Thought so,” John chuckles lightly. “I never wanted to talk about mine. To anyone. I just want you to know that if you did. That if you needed to. With anyone. I’m here.”

“I know. Thank you, John.” 

“Well, what shall we talk about, then?”

“You really can go back to sleep, you know,” Sherlock huffs out, not wanting John to suffer because of  _ his  _ dull issues.

“I know, but I don’t want to. I’m up now. I want to be up with you,” John says softly, brushing the curls from Sherlock’s forehead and planting an enthusiastic kiss there.

After a long, comfortable silence, John asks gently, “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about your dream?”

Sherlock sighs and rubs his cheek on John’s shoulder, soothing himself on the worn fabric there. “I… It’s always the same one. Or similar. I’m in Serbia and there’s pain all around me and…” he starts tearing up slightly, to which John responds by holding him even closer. “And I know who’s coming and I know what he’s going to do and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

John tenses up, and Sherlock can hear the unspoken questions in his posture.

“Anyway,” he continues, not wanting to delve too deep into it right then, “It does help, having someone to wake up next to.”

“I’m glad,” John says softly, his jaw tensed. 

Sherlock turns to face John, resting his chin on his chest. “John, there’s no need to get yourself worked up about this. It’s practically ancient history.”

“I know, love, it’s just… the thought of anybody hurting you… I could kill whoever… Sorry. I just can’t  _ stand _ the thought of some disgusting son of a bitch putting his  _ hands  _ on you!” John grips Sherlock’s head in his hands fiercely, as though he can’t bear the idea of not grabbing hold of him right this second. He plants a firm kiss on Sherlock’s forehead, eyes, and lips, his posture softening as he does so.

Sherlock kisses him back, kisses any part of him he can reach, finally landing on his lips and coaxing the tension completely out of his body with a slow, long slide of lips and tongue. 

“I love you so goddamn much, Sherlock Holmes,” John says fiercely, staring intently into Sherlock’s eyes.

“I love you too, John. I love you so much it feels unreal sometimes,” Sherlock replies softly.

“What do you mean?”

“It feels like it can’t be real life. How could somebody like me love and be loved by somebody like you? I’m still getting used to the idea, truth be told.”

“Me too. It’s a lot of firsts for me, and that takes getting used to. I feel like you’re my first real love. Like all those people I loved before you mean nothing in relation to the way I feel about you. You’re also my first boyfriend,” John winks and smacks Sherlock on the bum. 

“No I’m not,” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

“Of course you are. Some of us in this bed have been repressing their sexuality for the better part of two decades.”

“Really? You didn’t always know you weren’t straight?” Sherlock asks in surprise, unable to fathom a scenario in which John isn’t brave and true to himself.

“I think a part of me always knew, but that same part didn’t want to acknowledge it. In the army, it was easy not to be straight, because there weren’t other options, so everything that went on under nightfall with Sholto and, erm, a few other soldiers, was excusable. It’s not like I dated any of them,” John says matter-of-factly. Sherlock knows, though, that there’s more to it.

“And you never wanted to? Date them, I mean?”

“I don’t know. It’s not that easy. Even in retrospect, it’s difficult to admit it. I had… feelings for some of them. One of them. James. But it never really escalated to the point where we’d hold hands in public or anything like that. That was probably more my doing than his. I didn’t  _ want  _ to be gay. I just wanted to be me, with no complications. While I was in the army, I could avoid a full-blown sexuality crisis because so many other blokes were getting up to the same sort of stuff. When I got back, though, I had to do some soul-searching. I couldn’t put it off any longer.”

“Why not?” 

“Well, because I met some mad bugger in a lab one day and he completely changed my life and I had more and more fantasies about shagging him senseless through this very mattress, that’s why,” John smiles, and he cups Sherlock’s face in his hand, his eyes full of fondness. “What about you? When did you have your big sexuality crisis?”

“Sexuality has always been a boring topic for me. I always knew I was gay and I didn’t understand that it was even a contentious issue. I just thought that everybody liked what they liked and left each other alone for it. That illusion went away very quickly when I got to high school.”

“Do I want to know or will it make me want to murder someone?” John stiffens slightly again.

Sherlock runs his hands up and down John’s sides, soothing.

“It wasn’t that bad,” he shrugs. “Just your run of the mill homophobia, I suppose.”

“There’s nothing run of the mill about it, Sherlock. I saw Harry go through it, and I think that’s part of the reason I didn’t want to admit how I felt, not even to myself. I didn’t want to have to deal with bullies and alienation.”

“I’m used to dealing with bullies and alienation, though,” Sherlock points out.

John smiles sadly, softly, and runs his hand over Sherlock’s cheekbones and temples and hair. “I wish we’d known each other then. Even if we were just mates.”

“Me too. But maybe we wouldn’t have gotten on. I was even less sociable then than I am now.”

“I don’t care how sociable you are. Never have,” John smiles and cradles the back of Sherlock’s head, kisses him sweetly. 

Sherlock deepens the kiss, ready for more, ready for everything. John hums into his mouth, his lips quirking up a bit. Before long, the kisses turn frantic, desperate. All of the excess adrenaline from Sherlock’s rude awakening spilling over into their mouths and tongues and hands. 

Sherlock breaks away to kiss a wet path down John’s neck and back up to his ear. He tugs on John’s t shirt. “Off,” he commands in between pecks, and John obliges, lifting his t shirt over his head and throwing it to the side of the bed.

With more bare skin to explore, Sherlock wastes no time. He runs his hands over John’s chest and stomach, following his ministrations with his mouth. When he reaches the waistband of John’s pants, he groans, tugging impatiently. John snickers as he pulls them down for him, and Sherlock wastes no time in moving to John’s cock, taking his entire length in his mouth immediately. John gasps and bucks upward, which makes Sherlock smile between bobs.

“Wait, wait, wait,” John suddenly rushes out, tapping Sherlock on the shoulder. “Wait please.”

“Mmm?” Sherlock lifts off with a lewd smack.

“Turn around. Put your feet up here,” John says, pulling off Sherlock’s pants.

Sherlock gets the hint and lays on his side with his feet by their pillows. John, as eager as Sherlock, takes him his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip as he lifts off.

They both find a steady rhythm with their mouths and their fists and it isn’t long before the pace quickens and Sherlock’s stomach tightens, readying his body for release. John comes first, patting Sherlock on the leg before he does, alerting him. He does it every single time, but Sherlock isn’t quite sure why. Surely he’s learnt by now that Sherlock would never waste a single thing that comes from John, and he swallows every last drop. His own release follows soon after when John reaches behind him and pushes a slicked finger slightly into his entrance, John’s name on his lips as usual.  
  
Once they’re cleaned up and relaxed, Sherlock goes back to his position in John’s arms, dropping a kiss on his chest every now and then, just because he can. It’s in that position that they finally fall asleep, John’s breath making Sherlock’s curls dance lightly as the sun makes its way through the sheer curtains at the start of a new day.


	3. John - 25th of July

John wakes up to a quiet flat. It takes a few seconds to properly emerge from sleep, and then one more to remember the events of the previous night. He presses Sherlock’s back to his chest more firmly, making sure not to wake him up, and breathes him in. Just hours ago, this very same body was shaking in his arms, and John finds himself wishing once more he knew what to do. He knows much too well about nightmares and what it feels like to wake up alone in bed breathless, heart pounding and every sense in alert. He has stopped counting the number of times he tried to regulate his own breathing, hands clenched around the sheets. There were times he had wished for someone to be there, even just to stand next to him and let him know he wasn’t alone. And yet, he had felt so helpless the night before, trying to calm Sherlock with kind words and soft caresses. 

He wishes for nothing more than to understand all of Sherlock, to know his every fear and learn how to make them smaller and smaller with each kiss and reassuring touch. But he knows Sherlock needs, and will need, time. They both do. Opening up with letters and texts seems so much easier, not having to face the other’s eyes as you confess in quiet whispers the demons still haunting you. John only has to pull away to look at Sherlock’s, marking his back in long, deep scars. They haven’t talked about it yet, not properly, and last night was another step forward. Still, John has so many questions. He wants to know where, when and how Sherlock got each one of them. He wants to know if they still hurt, if he still thinks he’s doing it all over again.

John lets one of his fingers trace the biggest one, starting up Sherlock’s shoulder blade all the way down to his lower back. He keeps his touch light, barely a caress and lets his lips follow the same path. He closes his eyes, imagining he could make them all disappear, make the pain and the memories go away.

“Sometimes I forget they’re even here.”

Sherlock’s voice is barely a whisper in the already quiet room, and John’s lips stop on one of the scars. He waits, not certain what to do exactly, and he feels Sherlock’s hand coming to rest over his own.

“Sometimes I see my own reflexion in the mirror and only then I am reminded of the marks lining my skin,” Sherlock continues, entirely still.

“You’re beautiful,” John murmurs against his bare skin, meaning it with all his heart. Sherlock shivers in his arms, and John smiles as he kisses his way up his back and nape, pressing them back together. “You’re absolutely beautiful, Sherlock.”

Silence stretches between them, one of Sherlock’s finger now tracing the line of his hand, and John lets him be. He lets him accept the tender confession, the too many times unsaid confession and hopes that if words are not enough, Sherlock will understand just how breathtaking he is with kisses and tender touches.

“You know you are too, right?” Sherlock asks after a moment, beginning to turn inside his arms until they’re facing.

John studies him silently, wanting to tell him that women have moaned and whispered just how gorgeous, how strong, how manly he is, but that it never mattered. Not really. He wants to tell him that his heart might explode right now because of how happy he feels, of how lucky he feels in this very moment. But his lips remain sealed and he leans in to press their mouths together, the touch almost too gentle and Sherlock smiles against his lips. A lazy smile that John wants to make his own, over and over again.

“We’re both a bit broken,” John says in a murmur, not pulling away.

Sherlock nods ever so lightly, their noses bumping against each other and John finds himself laughing.

“And that’s funny?” Sherlock asks, his own lips curling into a smile.

John licks his lips, his tongue tasting Sherlock’s at the same time, “Yes, because I love you, every single part of you.”

Sherlock stares at him for long seconds, barely breathing and his hands pressed against John’s lower back. When he finally moves, sliding closer and breathing out loudly against his lips, John realises he never wants to stop telling this brilliant man just how much he loves him.

“Rosie is awake,” Sherlock murmurs against his neck.

John smiles, kissing his curls and sighing, “We should go get her before she starts crying. It’s time for breakfast anyway.”

Sherlock nods, not moving.

“I love you too,” he finally says. “All of you.”

John holds him tighter. “I know that now, love.”

They remain close and kissing for as long as possible, and when John finally rolls over to get up, he can feel Sherlock’s eyes fixed on him. Smiling, he goes to put on a dressing gown and winks at him on his way out of the room. Rosie is already awake, playing with one of her toys and she reaches for him immediately. John takes the time to change her nappy her before going back downstairs, finding Sherlock already at the kitchen table. He hands him Rosie’s bottle and she drinks happily in his arms. The intimacy of it all hits John all of a sudden. It feels like they’ve been doing this for years, not having to exchange a single word to understand each other.

He looks down at Rosie but she’s staring at Sherlock in front of them. She’s fascinated by him, that much John can tell. When Sherlock is in the room, she follows him everywhere. She still sometimes is hesitant to reach out for him, but when she does, her entire face lights up. Sherlock, of course, is extraordinary with her. Twice already John has caught him reading to her from some encyclopedia, mostly about bees, and John is certain he’ll never get tired of watching them together.

“I have to go see Molly this morning,” Sherlock declares, forcing John to look back up.

He frowns. “She called?”

Sherlock nods, biting into his toast before replying, “She has some body parts that might interest me.”

Feeling his smile widen, John rolls his eyes, “Please tell me they’re going to stay over there?”

Sherlock’s feet brush his under the table. “Yes, they will.”

“We should think of a way for you to continue your experiments, since Rosie is going to walk soon,” John says, knowing just how dangerous it can all get once she does.

Sherlock finishes his coffee quickly. “I’ve talked about it with Mrs. Hudson. She thinks we can use 221C, but nothing’s certain yet.”

John puts down the bottle, holding Rosie close to his chest. “That could be perfect.”

Sherlock nods, walking around the table and kissing Rosie’s foreheads softly. “That’s what I told her, yes.”

John smiles and catches Sherlock by the arm as he walks away. “What about my kiss?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes but goes to him willingly, kissing him for very long seconds and by the time they pull away, John finds himself already hungry for more.

“I better get ready,” Sherlock murmurs against his lips.

John nods, licking his lips and tasting him one last time. “I’ll bring Rosie up and change her.  Drop by to say goodbye before going, alright?”

Sherlock nods and with another kiss walks to the bathroom.

John just has the time to clean the table and go back upstairs before Sherlock finds him again. Looking absolutely gorgeous, John can’t help but let both hands wander over his back and arse as he kisses him goodbye, and the look Sherlock casts him is full of promise. Rosie babbles to herself as Sherlock leaves, waving to the room, and John assures her Sherlock will be back as soon as possible. He’s just about to pick her up when his phone rings and he hurries to leave her with some of her toys before answering.

“Hello?”

“ _ Hi, Doctor Watson? _ ” a woman’s voice asks.

“Speaking, yes.”

“ _ This is Doctor Jensen, you came to our clinic yesterday for an interview?” _

John frowns, “Yes, I did.”

“ _ We’ve decided to hire you in one of our clinics in London, _ ” she announces, sounding all too cheerful, and John frowns even more.

“Thank you so much, I was certain I wouldn’t get the job,” John smiles. “I didn’t know you had a clinic in London.”

_ “It’s still very new, and we’re looking for experienced doctors to get it ruining, _ ” Doctor Jensen explains. “ _ That’s why we’ve decided to call you back. With your army experience, you’ll be able to handle working under pressure for the first few months, just enough time to get everything ruining.” _

“I understand, yes, but I have absolutely no experience in managing a clinic. I’m sorry if I misled you during the interview.”

“ _ Don’t worry, you didn’t. Most of the doctors we’re hiring haven’t got this particular experience either, and that’s why I’m calling. We’re offering you a training in one of our clinics in Norwich, six months, and then you’ll be able to take function _ .”

John feels a knot forming in his chest. “Six months?”

“ _ Yes,” _ Doctor Jensen continues, “ _ You’ll receive all the training you need. _ ”

“Alright, I-” He stops, looking down at Rosie. “Can I call you back to give you an answer?”

“ _ Of course, how about this friday? _ ”

John nods, “Yes, ok.”

“ _ I’ll wait for your call then. _ ”

“Thank you again,” John says, unable to tear his eyes from Rosie.

“ _ Thank you, Doctor Watson. Have a good day. _ ”

“You too,” John replies absently, lowering his phone slowly as he hangs up.

Rosie is completely oblivious to his staring and continues to bang two toys together happily, but John feels like it’s much harder to breathe all of a sudden. He can’t go away for six months. He just got here, he just came home, just found his way back to Sherlock. He doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want to have to wake up alone in bed for six bloody months. Not now that he knows what it feels like to have Sherlock’s body pressed against his every morning. He needs this, needs to have him close all the time.

_ I can’t just do nothing either _ .

There is no doubt he’ll go insane if he stays inside the flat all day. He has to find a job, has to take care of Rosie, look after his family. No matter what Sherlock says, he needs to earn money, to make sure Rosie will have everything she needs. It’s his role as a father to provide for her. In the five interviews he went to, this is the only call back he got. He can’t miss his chance.

_ Six months. _

Sighing loudly, John rubs a hand over his face and unlocks his phone again. He finds Julian’s number quickly and types a first text.

 

**09:48**

Are you there?

I need to talk.

 

**09:48**

I’m here, yes.

Everything’s alright?

 

**09:49**

I just got offered a new job.

 

**09:49**

That’s awesome news, John.

 

**09:50**

Yes, I know, it’s just… I have to do a training.

It’s away from home, just next to yours and Bill’s actually, Norwich .

Six months.

 

**09:51**

Oh. I see.

(...)

Have you talked to Sherlock about it?

 

**09:52**

I just hang up with the clinic. Sherlock is out.

I have no idea what to do. 

 

**09:52**

Don’t you want to talk to him about it first?

 

**09:53**

(...)

I’m afraid. 

 

**09:53**

Of what?

 

**09:54**

Of what he’s going to say. Of going away. Of ruining everything again.

What if he says I can’t go?

What if he says I can?

 

**09:55**

Do you want to go?

 

**09:56**

I… don’t know.

I have to. I need a job. I need the money.

I need to take care of my family. 

 

**09:56**

Doesn’t look like you want to go, John. More like you need to.

 

**09:57**

I can’t go now. I’ve only just came back.

I can’t leave him. 

 

**09:58**

It looks to me that it’s something you need to talk about together.

I’m certain you don’t have to be afraid.

Sherlock is going to understand. 

 

**09:59**

I know he will, of course he will.

But it’s going to change everything, I don’t want it to.

 

**10:00**

I really think you need to tell Sherlock all this. 

And do not hesitate to call me if you need to.

I’ll continue to be your sponsor as long as you need me to, and of course you can stay at my place if it can help.

 

**10:01**

Thanks, that’s nice of you.

I don’t see myself asking Bill again. He’s already done so much.

 

**10:01**

It’s really not a problem.

Just let me know what you two have decided, alright?

 

**10:02** **  
** Yes, of course.

Thank you Julian.

 

**10:02**

Anytime.

 

John puts his phone back in his pocket, leaning down to pick up Rosie and walk back downstairs. When Sherlock finally comes back, he’s still pondering all the cons and pros to this training, and it’s Rosie’s laughter that brings him back to reality. Sherlock’s eyes find his immediately and, of course, he notices. John smiles, shaking his head and getting up, “Nice body parts then?”

Sherlock nods lightly, walking towards him and cupping his face. “What is it?”

John closes his eyes, sighing, “I…” He stops, leaning into Sherlock’s touch and hating the knot in his chest. “The clinic from yesterday called me earlier, they have a job for me.”

Sherlock’s lips curl into a smile, “That’s good news, no?”

John looks back at him, leaning in for a kiss and breathing him in. “Yes. But there’s a training.” Sherlock frowns, the silent question in his eyes quite obvious. “Six months. In Norwich.”

“Oh,” Sherlock breathes out. “That’s…”

John lets out another sigh. “I know. It’s too bloody far from here, from you. I don’t even know what I’ll do there. Julian said I could stay at his place, but still, I’m no-”

“Julian?” Sherlock asks, both hands falling from John’s face.

“Yes, I spoke to him after I got the call,” John explains, already sensing the tension in Sherlock’s posture.

“I see,” Sherlock replies carefully, looking away. “What did he say, then?”

John reaches for him again, taking Sherlock’s hand in his and pulling him back against him. “Don’t,” he whispers. “I only called him because I was terrified of this.”

He can feel Sherlock’s breath against his lips as he replies, “You’re terrified of me?”

John hurries to shake his head, “No, of course not.” He stops, inhaling deeply and squeezing Sherlock’s hand. “I’m terrified of what it could mean just to have this conversation.”

Sherlock’s free hand slides up his arm until it finds his neck. “Six months is a very long time, John.”

“I know,” John whispers, nodding.

Sherlock brushes their lips together slowly, “You’ve just come back.”

John feels an ache spread throughout his entire chest. “I know.”

A long moment passes without either of them saying anything. They don’t move, staying pressed together and exchanging quiet kisses now and again. John wishes they could remain this way forever. He wishes they never have to talk about this again, never have to even think of being apart.

“Do you want to go?” Sherlock finally asks.

John shrugs, “I don’t now. I mean, it’s a very good job and I really need one, but you… God, Sherlock, I don’t want to leave you.”

Sherlock holds him tighter, kisses him harder and says, “Then we give ourselves time to think about it.”

John pulls away just enough to look up at him. “You really mean that?”

Sherlock’s eyes flutter closed as he nods, “Yes.”

John pulls him down for another kiss. “I love you. You know that, right?”

He feels Sherlock smile into the kiss, pressing in just a little longer before letting go. “I love you too, John.”

They remain still for a moment until Rosie starts to pull on Sherlock’s leg, reaching for him with both arms when they look down. Sherlock quickly leans down to pick her up, kissing her cheek softly and smiling at John. “We should go out for lunch.”

John threads his finger through Rosie’s soft hair, smiling back as he says, “Good idea.”

They end up eating in a local crêperie, Rosie making a mess and Sherlock barely touching his food, and John can’t help but feel like the luckiest man alive once more. They don’t talk about his job offer, and when the silence stretches between them, all the questions and unsaid words hover above them. John wants to tell him he doesn’t have to go, that he’ll find something else, that he can’t imagine a lunch without him, but he keeps his mouth shut. He’s not allowed to be selfish, not now. He needs to think about Rosie, needs to think about Sherlock and what they need from each other.  _ Christ _ , he needs to think.

The afternoon and evening pass almost too quickly. Rosie takes a very short nap and then it’s only a matter of keeping her busy until bathtime. Sherlock plays some violin and John listens while trying to lull Rosie to sleep. When it doesn’t work, Sherlock offers to read to her and it does seem to keep her occupied longer than the violin did. She turns the pages with him and points at the words and pictures while babbling, and Sherlock answers as if he understands each and every question. John takes advantage of this moment to continue his own book, glancing now and then to the two of them on the sofa and finding it hard to focus on his story. When reading isn’t an option anymore, John goes to fetch some of her toys and plays with her on the rug, giving Sherlock the time to finish his current experiment in calm.

He’s the one to remind them that bathtime is getting closer and as usual, they both head to the bathroom. John is certain this is Rosie’s favorite moment of the day. She spends the entire time laughing, throwing water at the two of them and playing with her toys. Sherlock sits closer to him than usual, and John leans back against him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. Sherlock glances at him, not saying a word but searching his face for long seconds.  _ I love you so much it aches _ , John thinks and knows Sherlock can read it.

Dinner is spent in quiet laughter and gentle brushes of their feet under the table. John finds himself hoping he could somehow convince Sherlock to come with him.  _ No _ , _ you can’t ask him that. His life is here. _

“Are you alright?” Sherlock asks, his feet sliding up John’s leg.

“Yes,” John replies quickly, smiling. “I’m just tired.”

Sherlock doesn’t pick up on his lie, but offers to put Rosie to bed so that he can get ready to sleep. John thanks him with a kiss, and says they’ll wash the dishes tomorrow. Rosie seems to agree and she happily lets Sherlock pick her up. John wishes her a good night, kissing her for long seconds before letting them both go. He tries to not overthink every single detail as he gets ready for bed, and listens to Sherlock walking above him after lying down under the covers. He tries to loosen the knot in his chest when Sherlock finally comes back downstairs, undressing in the bathroom quickly before joining him.

John immediately pulls him closer, letting Sherlock nuzzle his face against his neck, and breathing him in. They don’t talk, don’t move. John tries and tries not to think about falling asleep without Sherlock for six long months.


	4. Sherlock - 27th of July

“Sherlock?” Tanya pops her head out the door of her office to call him in. 

Sherlock immediately notices that she didn’t sleep well the previous night and that her house is undergoing construction of some sort - probably related. Renovations? Probably. Why? From the looks of her shoes, she - 

He stops himself with a sigh. Old habits die hard. He has improved, though, and realised that she’s there to help him, not to be the source of his scrutiny.

She sits in her usual seat, opposite the little couch and asks, “How are you?” and Sherlock wants to scream because, for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t know the answer to that question.

“Fine,” he says abruptly instead.

“You sure?” she asks carefully, her eyes narrowing slightly and her head cocking to one side - her classic tell of concern-meets-scrutiny. 

“Yes.”

She waits, patient as ever, looking right into his eyes. He looks at the rug instead, steadily avoiding being exposed.

“Why are you doing renovations on your house when you just finished renovating two months ago?”

“Sherlock…” Tanya sighs.

“Sorry. Sorry. I just… it’s been a bit of a tough week, I suppose.”

“Tough how?”

“Everything was going so well. John and I… Well, we’ve been getting into the groove of things, as you might say, and figuring out what we really are to each other and where we fit into each other’s lives but now… Now he might have to go away for a while for a job and I’m not sure what it all means.”

“What do you think it means?” 

“I don’t know,” Sherlock admits, scratching little shapes into the armrest’s upholstery.

“How long is he going for?”

“I had the dream again,” Sherlock says suddenly, desperate to change the subject because the feelings are too new to be outside of his head just yet. 

“The torture dream?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you think you had it again, after all this time?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t feel unsafe. I… I don’t know.”

“Was this before or after you found out that John is going away?” Tanya asks, never one to miss an opportunity.

“Before.”

“Were you sleeping alone?”

“No.”

“Did you wake him up?”

“He woke up to me screaming, yes.” Sherlock grits his teeth, wondering why he used this as a distraction and not something easier. But he did learn a while ago to forge through, to say the things he doesn’t necessarily want to in order to facilitate healing. He’s getting better. Sometimes.

“What did he say?” 

“He comforted me. Held me. Helped me through it. Then we spent the rest of the night speaking and… being intimate…” Sherlock blushes at that. “It was… nice. It helped.”

Tanya smiles delicately. “But then?”

Sherlock feels a tinge of irritation at having someone able to read him so easily. He likes to think of himself as mysterious, but Tanya sees him as an open book. Her powers of deduction are not dissimilar to his own, although she uses hers exclusively for emotional deductions.

“But then yesterday, I came home and he told me he has to go away for six months for work. Not only that, but he discussed it with Julian before even telling me, and Julian offered for him to stay there.” Sherlock hates the way he probably sounds - like a whining child who may not get his way. He hates that he can’t stand the thought of going only six months without John but he can’t help it. “I don’t understand why I feel like I  _ need  _ him this much.”

“What is worrying you more - him leaving or Julian?”

“Both. Leaving. I don’t know. I don’t want him to go and I certainly don’t want him to speak to Julian about it instead of me. Why did he do that?”

“Didn’t you ask him why he did that?”

“He said he was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of having the conversation. The one where he’d tell me he’s maybe leaving. I think the worst part, actually, is the possibility that he wants to go. I’d never choose to go. I don’t understand how he can choose that. It kind of reaffirms what I told you I’m afraid of.”

Tanya doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t assume.

“That I love him more than he loves me,” Sherlock says quietly, more to the rug than to anyone else.

“Have you told him how you feel?”

“No. I don’t want to be selfish. I don’t want to be needy and boring and for him to realise he’s made a big mistake and that he doesn’t really want me.”

“But he told you he wants you. You expressed this exact fear to him and he negated it. Don’t you believe him?”

“I don’t know. I guess… I guess, deep down, at the heart of it, I can’t believe it’s true that anybody would want me.”

“Ah,” Tanya nods her head knowingly. This, too, irks Sherlock.

“He didn’t even mention the prospect of me going with him,” he murmurs.

“Would you want to go with him?”

“No, but I might do it. To be with him. I at least want to be asked.”

“Why don’t  _ you _ ask  _ him _ ?”

“Don’t want to be needy.”

“Sherlock, we spoke about this. It isn’t needy to need things from your partner. It’s natural. There’s a give and take in every relationship, and sometimes you have to ask for the give and you need to learn to take, too. There needs to come a point where you trust John to be the person you can ask for things from. For both of you.”

“It’s too difficult,” Sherlock replies stubbornly.

“Why?”

“Because it means too much!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in emphasis.

“Don’t you think that it’s possible that, even though you say you don’t feel unsafe, that a part of you does? The part that won’t let go entirely and let John see what you deem as ‘needy’? Maybe that’s why you had the dream.”

“I - I don’t know. I… hadn’t considered that… Does that mean I’m too much of a mess for a relationship?”

“On the contrary. It just means there are things you may have to face. Things we still need to explore in order to be successful at this. Don’t forget that, before this relationship, you were much worse off.”

“But that’s exactly what I’m afraid of. If I lose him… If he leaves and possibly doesn’t come back, does that mean I won’t be okay anymore?”

“No. You’ve achieved so much, Sherlock, and that isn’t  _ because  _ of John, but  _ with  _ him. He isn’t the reason you got clean and decided to work on yourself. He may have been the catalyst, but you can do it without him.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Well, that’s a different thing entirely. I just don’t want you to think that your recovery is dependent on John. It isn’t. You need to realise and believe that.”

“I do. Most days, I do. It just… It feels so big, him going. It feels as though he’s looking at what we have and deciding that it isn’t enough.”

“I know it must feel that way, but having an open and honest conversation with him will go a long way to determining whether that’s actually the case. It’s important that you don’t project or assume things that aren’t necessarily true, because you’ll only hurt yourself, and him, in the process.”

And Sherlock thinks about it long and hard. He really does. But, when it comes down to it, when he has a new text message open and he types “We need to speak about this,” he doesn’t hit send and he can’t explain why. He doesn’t want to ask because he’s terrified of the answer.

Because what if he’s right? What if John doesn’t feel as strongly about him as he does for John? What if this, right here, is the thing that breaks them? Because he’s so desperate to hold tighter while John’s just willing to walk away?

He hails a cab back to Baker Street, his thoughts elsewhere the entirety of the trip, on John and their fragile new love as street after street passes by.

Once outside 221, he doesn’t go in, instead deciding to pop into Speedy’s for a coffee. He isn’t ready to face John. Not just yet. Before long, though, his phone vibrates.

**11:16** **  
** Coming home soon?

Sighing, Sherlock pockets his phone and sits at one of the corner tables with his black coffee. The waitress comes with a container of sugar and Sherlock puts his hand up to indicate his refusal. He used to take it, once upon a time - two - but fighting for his life for two years away from home necessitated his growing used to a lack of sugar. Additionally, his stomach used to turn at the thought of something sweet when his life was anything but.

His phone vibrates again.

**11:23** **  
** Alright?

He supposes he’d better type out a reply before John sends the national guard looking for him. He knows exactly how long his therapy session is and how long it’d take for him to be home, and he did promise to be back right after.

**11:24** **  
** Alright. Just having a coffee. SH

**11:24** **  
** Therapy go ok?

**11:24** **  
** A little tough. Need to clear my head a little before coming home. SH

**11:25** **  
** Understandable. Take your time. We’ll be here when you get back.

His heart feels full to bursting at the simple words.  _ We’ll be waiting _ . His family will be there. But for how long, exactly? If John is so readily willing to leave him for this, what about other, bigger opportunities? What would it take for John to walk away for good? A better job? Nicer weather? A fight? 

Sherlock shakes his head. He shouldn’t be thinking like this. Tanya is right - he needs to trust John, to take him at his word. If John says he wants to stay, Sherlock needs to believe that he means it. He just isn’t sure if he’s able to. It’s so difficult to undo what has been done, especially in his psyche. Everything always pointed to people leaving, so it’s hard to think that this time it won’t happen. Past events have wired his brain to believe that people leave and he’s the reason that they do. He’s not sure how telling himself that it won’t happen will allow him to believe it, but another part of him knows that he needs to, in order to at least conserve what he  _ does  _ have with John. 

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Sherlock looks up from his coffee and his thoughts and John is standing in front of him, Rosie on his hip, smiling lightly.

He hums his agreement, reaching across the table to take Rosie into his arms and give her a kiss on the cheek and John takes that as a cue to sit down.

“Just came down for some air and I saw you through the window. Sure you’re alright?” he asks softly, his forehead creasing in concern.

“I will be.”

“OK.”

“OK.”

John smiles gently again, letting Sherlock know he’s there and he loves him. It’s enough, for now.

Sherlock worries, though. He worries that John’s leaving is more significant than they’ve discussed. Could it be, he wonders, that John sees their relationship as more transitory than Sherlock does? They’ve never spoken about it at that level, but Sherlock imagined they’d be together forever. When his imagination has really been left to run amok, he’s even had thoughts of matching tuxedoes and wedding flowers. Everything he never thought he’d have and the things he had to watch John have with someone else. Perhaps John doesn’t see them the same way, though. Perhaps he’s been delusional.

“Hey,” John says softly, setting his left hand palm-up on the table; an invitation. “Do you need more time?”

Sherlock slides his palm into John’s, linking their fingers and staring at their joined hands. “No. I’m almost done here,” he says, then lets go to drain the rest of his coffee and stands up, holding Rosie close. She reaches for his hair and tugs on the curls, giggling. Sherlock beams at her, feeling like the luckiest man in the world for being able to have her in his life without ever having earned it.

“I’m sure she’s going to miss you even more than I will if we go,” John says fondly as they turn to leave the cafe. 

Sherlock stops in his tracks, shocked. He shouldn’t be, not really, but he can’t help it. He hadn’t really considered the fact that Rosie, too, would be leaving. Of course John would take her with,  _ of course he would _ , but part of him feels resentful at that. He wasn’t even considered in this decision. A huge part of him realises that, should she go with, John will probably have to hire someone to look after her during the day while he’s at work or, worse yet, Julian will look after her, and that makes him see red. Why should Rosie have to spend her days with strangers if she could potentially stay behind and be with him?

It’s because John doesn’t truly consider him to be part of their family - not really. If he did, Sherlock would at least have been consulted on this decision. 

“Sherlock? You coming?” John turns around to ask.  
  
“Coming,” Sherlock replies, following blindly.


	5. John - 27th of July to 3rd of August

Sherlock is hiding something.

John is certain, ever since he went to meet him at Speedy’s, Sherlock has been distant, locked in his own head and barely responding to either him or Rosie. John understands, of course he does. He has done a lot of thinking on his own, in the middle of the night as he held Sherlock close to him and at random moments of the day as he realised he’d had to leave all… _this._

And it’s stupid because he could just stay. He could just refuse this job that sounds too good to be true and find something here, even if it takes months, even if it means he’ll be useless and just good at… well, not much actually. _It could be so easy_ , he thinks, watching as Rosie tries to catch Sherlock’s attention with one of her toys. Vainly trying apparently. Sherlock hasn’t moved from the sofa since they’ve been back, staring at the ceiling and replying with groans and hums only. John smiles as Rosie turns towards him, frowning before crawling to her other toys, probably thinking she can find one that will interest Sherlock.

This. This is the simple reason why John has to go. His family, the one he needs to take care of and provide for. He can’t simply stay at home, even if he goes with Sherlock to crime scenes and chases criminals all over London, it doesn’t change the fact that John doesn’t bring any money home. Oh, he knows they’re not in trouble, and that Sherlock can easily take care of the three of them, but that isn’t… _right._ It’s probably stupid and maybe even quite old-fashioned, but John needs to feel useful, needs to be the one providing for Rosie’s toys, for their food, for their daily life.

“Da,” Rosie calls, showing him a toy now.

John leans down to pick her up, kissing her for long seconds and breathing her in. “It’ll be alright, sweetheart,” he whispers against her skin. Rosie smashes her toy against his chest, mumbling, and for just a second, John believes in his own lie.

It takes another two hours before Sherlock comes back to them, and then Rosie is fast asleep upstairs. John just finished lunch, saving some for Sherlock just in case, and had settled in his chair with a notebook. He had been trying to write down the pros and cons, trying to make sense of all this, and until now, failing to do so. He doesn’t hear Sherlock until he’s practically letting himself fall onto his lap. John suppresses a cry of surprise and welcomes a rather clingy Sherlock with a smile and a “Hey.” Sherlock nuzzles his nose against his neck, breathing out loudly. “Feeling better?”

Sherlock shakes his head, “You’re taking her with you.”

 _Oh_.

“I…” John starts before stopping, not sure what he wants to say exactly. “Yes.”

Sherlock keeps his face hidden as he murmurs, “Why?”

John holds him tighter, feeling his heart sink as he realises what must have gone through Sherlock’s head for the past three hours. “Love, it has nothing to do with you, I promise.”

Sherlock exhales loudly again, not saying a word.

“I trust you with her, you know I do. You’re good with her, very good, and she loves you. She’s been missing you all day, you know.”

Sherlock still isn’t responding, but not fleeing either, and John kisses the top of his head softly.

“I can’t imagine going without her, it didn’t even cross my mind,” he finally confesses.

Sherlock’s lips brush his skin as he replies, “But without me, you do.”

“Oh love,” John sighs, wanting to kiss all the worries out of him. “Of course I don’t. Just thinking about falling asleep without you is making it hard to breathe properly.”

Sherlock pulls away just enough to look at him. “Then why are you even considering it?”

John licks his lips, trying to find the right words, trying to put sense into what he feels like he should do. “I have to, Sherlock. I can’t miss an opportunity like this one. This job could be everything I need, you know. It’ll be here, close to home, and I’ll get to be in charge, to make sure things are done well.”

Sherlock stares at him for a long moment. “You want this job.”

John nods slowly, “I do, yes. But I want you more, I want us more than anything. I won’t go, Sherlock, if it means I’ll lose what we’re slowly building together. You know that, right?”

Sherlock looks away, focusing on his neck again. “I do, yes.”

John feels the knot in his chest tighten, and he places two fingers under Sherlock’s chin, forcing him to look back at him. “I mean that Sherlock. I love you, more than anything. You are what’s important, what matters.”

Sherlock’s eyes are roaming all over his face, studying him closely and John hopes more than anything than he can read what he just said. “I love you, John, and as much as I hate the idea of you going, I know you have to.”

John leans to kiss him, softly, slowly, “I don’t have to, we can discuss this,” he murmurs. “I could always come back for the weekends.”

Sherlock’s entire body shivers as he shakes his head, “I don’t think I could stand it, John. Having you for two days and letting you go each time.”

John kisses him harder, pouring all of his love into the kiss and pressing them closer together. “Okay, yes. No weekends.”

Sherlock remains there for a long moment, breathing against his mouth and John waits for the words that he’s surely been holding back all this time: “I... “

John brushes their lips together, “Tell me, love.”

Sherlock closes his eyes, breathing deeply as he finally says, “I could come with you.”

 _Yes_ , John wants to say but murmurs instead, “Is that really what you want?”

Sherlock nods, “I want to be with you, the two of you.” 

John licks his lips, tasting Sherlock’s as he does. “What about the cases? What about all you’re doing here, all our clients, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson?”

“They don’t matter, John,” Sherlock breathes out. “You do.”

“You’ll get bored, love. As much as I want you to come with us, I don’t want to do that to you,” John says, hating the words as they come out of his mouth. “We both know it. What we are, what we’re becoming, Sherlock, it is so very fragile. And if I fear I could ruin everything by going, I know for sure we’ll ruin it if you come.”

Sherlock pulls aways, frowning, “I don’t understand, John. Why would it be different from being here?”

John smiles, cuping Sherlock’s face with one hand and stroking his cheek softly. “Because here is where we can be us, where we can truly be _us_.” He breathes in deeply, “I don’t know how to explain it, but you felt it, when you came to Bill’s, just how wrong it all was back then.” Sherlock nods slowly, leaning into John’s touch. “Yes, we’ve grown since then, we’ve said so much and built something stronger, but I don’t want to watch it fall apart.”

Sherlock turns his face to kiss John’s palm. “I think I understand,” he whispers. “It’s dull, and I wish I could just ask Mycroft to give you this job, but you’re making sense.”

John laughs softly, “I’m not sure I’m making any, but I’m serious when I say that I’m not going if it means I’m putting us at risk.”

Sherlock looks back at him. “I love you, John, and I’m going to hate every second that you’re gone.”

“I will too, love.”

Sherlock opens his mouth to say something before looking down, not giving John time to ask what he wanted to say as he nuzzles back against him and kisses him soundly.

 

* * *

John tries not to think about the suitcases waiting by the door, nor of Sherlock putting Rosie to bed upstairs and saying goodbye. _Christ, what am I doing?_ This can’t be it, they can’t be leaving tomorrow already. He can’t be saying goodbye to Sherlock, not yet. _What am I bloody doing?_ The last week has passed too fast and so slowly at the same time, the two of them being able to hear every second ticking by as they got closer to the day John had to leave. Rosie doesn’t seem to realise she’s about to leave the home she’s slowly getting used to, and it only makes the knot inside John’s chest ache even more each time she’s looking for Sherlock all around the flat.

It’s only the sound of footsteps climbing down the stairs that brings John back to reality and he watches without a word as Sherlock comes inside the room. They stare at each other for a long moment, Sherlock’s eyes shining with something so very sad, something that makes John’s heart sink and his entire body ache. He wants to reach for him, to tell him he can’t go, he can’t leave him, can’t do this, but not a sound comes out. Sherlock breaks contact, bending down to get his towel before heading out to the bathroom. John closes his eyes, waiting for the water to start running before allowing himself to fall apart. Just for a second he lets reality crash over him.

He’s about to leave. He’s about to go and leave Sherlock behind for six months. He’s about to put at risk the only good thing that has ever happened in his life, _Christ_ , the only wonderful thing that has happened in his life. He’s about to let it all become even more fragile only because he’s too afraid to let Sherlock down. _I’m such a mess_ , _even after all this, still a bloody mess_ . Why is it so hard to tell Sherlock all this, why can’t he just tell him how scared he is? Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? He could stay, and he could wait for a job offer which won’t come and let this way of life bore Sherlock a bit more day after day. He can’t do this to them, can’t let the routine tear them apart to a point of no return. Yes, their love is still brand new, and _yes, of course_ he wants nothing more than to stay here all day with Sherlock, but he can’t. Can he?

Sherlock slipping under the cover makes him jump, and John opens his eyes to look at him. They’re still so silent, and John wishes he could find the right words, the ones that won’t betray just how desperate he feels, how insecure, how scared. He lies down instead, reaching for the lamp and turning it off. Darkness surrounds them, and for a second, only the sound of their breathing echoes in the room.

The first point of contact is Sherlock’s hand brushing his forearm. “Sherlock,” John whispers, having no idea what he wants to say. He turns to face him, and in a flash of a second, Sherlock is all over him. Before John can react, there is a hungry mouth pressed against his, and he can only kiss Sherlock back just as desperately.

Their bodies melt into one, discovering the other all over again, and John rolls them around, pinning Sherlock to the mattress. He kisses down his jaw, neck and shoulder blade, letting his tongue sink and his teeth mark. Sherlock is moaning, the sound almost too loud in the quiet room, and John engraves each and every one of them. He can’t forget this, can’t let himself forget how brilliant, how powerful it all feels. He thrusts against Sherlock, locking their groins together and sealing back their lips, drinking all of Sherlock’s gasps and whimpers.

He can already feel Sherlock’s growing erection against his, each of their hurried movements making the desire build and build inside him, and John cries out as Sherlock locks both legs around his waist. _God, I love you_ , he thinks, kissing him harder. Sherlock throws his head back with another sharp thrust, and John leans down to kiss the offered neck. It’s all too fast, all too desperate but he doesn’t care. It’s _them_ , so very them, and John loves every second of it.

“John,” Sherlock moans, beginning to shake in his arms, “John, John, _John._ ”

Rocking harder against him, John seeks Sherlock’s lips again and pours all of his love into the kiss. He tells Sherlock how he’s going to miss this, how much he craves them like this all the time, how beautiful, how breathtaking he is in this very moment. He tells him all the things he can’t yet speak out and hopes Sherlock understands, hopes Sherlock _knows._

Sherlock’s orgasm takes them both by surprise, and John watches in awe as Sherlock’s entire body arches under his. He watches and watches and lets his own pleasure explode between them, taking them both to the place where nothing can tear them apart.

John doesn’t say anything when Sherlock wraps himself around him, face against his neck and tears wetting his skin.

He doesn’t anything as he swallows around the lump in his throat, holding Sherlock just a little harder.

He doesn’t say anything as they fall asleep glued together, unable to let go, _not yet_.

_I’m going to miss you._

_I love you._

  
  
_Please, tell me we’re going to be alright._


	6. Thursday, 3rd August - Text Thread with Sherlock Holmes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone,
> 
> from now one we're back to the epistolary format of this series, so you can expect closer updates!  
> Thank you for all the comments, and we hope you'll like where we're going with this second part.

**09:42**

I miss you already. 

 

**09:42**

I miss you. Come back. SH

 

**09:43**

Sherlock, I…

(...)

We can do this. Right?

 

**09:43**

(...)

**09:44**

(...)

**09:45**

(...)

**09:46**

(...)

**09:47**

Yes. SH

 

**09:47**

You tell me now, Sherlock, and I’m coming back.

I can’t risk that much, I can’t risk losing you.

I love you. 

 

**09:48**

I love you. SH

God, I love you so much, John. SH

We can do this. We have to do this. SH

Right? SH

 

**09:49**

We… 

Yes. 

I’m going to miss you, but I’m coming back.

Always remember that.

I’m coming back. 

 

**09:50**

I know you are. SH

You always do, don’t you? SH

I just have to keep reminding myself, when I’m lonely or when I itch or when it’s dark and I’m afraid of being alone. SH

I have to remember that you always, always come back to me, as I do to you. SH

  
  


**09:51**

Yes. Always.

And, please, when it’s dark and you’re alone, call me, text me, anything.

Just one word from you, Sherlock, and I’ll find a way to be there. 

Ok?

 

**09:52**

OK. SH

Don’t forget about me while you’re gone. SH

 

**09:52**

Forgetting about you is, I’m certain, entirely impossible, love.

(...)

Gotta go, my train is here.

I love you.

I’ll text you when we’re at Julian’s.

 

**09:53**

Alright. Be safe. I love you. Both of you. SH


	7. Monday, 7 August - Email to John Watson (draft)

**To:** [ **j.h.watson@gmail.co.uk** ](mailto:j.h.watson@gmail.co.uk)

**Subject: Lover, where do you live?  
  
**

Dear John

It has been four days since you’ve been gone. 

Four days, three hours and a couple of seconds. 

Four excruciating days, three agonising hours and a couple of searing seconds.

And in that time, I’ve managed to work myself into the tailspin I promised myself I wouldn’t go into. 

I’ve imagined so many scenarios in which I’m on the outside. Scenarios where Julian’s lips are on your skin, your hand is on his thigh, his arms wrapped around your naked body, moans escaping from either one of your mouths - neither one of these is more hurtful than the other, for some reason. These thoughts have become somewhat intrusive in their quality, because, try as I might, I can’t rid myself of them. On cold, dark nights, when I want nothing more than for your body to be there, even just for a while, even if we’re not touching, I think of not much else. I imagine you warming Julian’s bed, or him warming yours. I imagine your toes meeting under the duvet. You calling him  _ love  _ and him calling you  _ darling  _ and both of you sometimes calling the other  _ sweetheart _ in bed.

I’m terrified of everything, it seems. But most of all, I’m terrified of losing you, in any way possible. I thought I was stronger than this, but it’s starting to look like I’m weaker than either one of us imagined.

I know you’d never cheat, I know this, I know, I know, I know, I promise I do, but tell that to my brain at 3 o’clock in the morning when everybody else in this godforsaken city seems to be in a restful sleep except me. I thought London was meant to be bustling and vibrant at all hours - isn’t that what the tour books say? Why, then, do I find myself with my thoughts alone?

It would make the most sense for me to just pick up the phone and call you, I know, but speaking to you on the phone is almost unbearable. I don’t want you to hear the vulnerability in my voice, as it shakes and cracks on the  _ I miss you _ s. I want you to think I’m strong, even though I’m not. I’m trying to be strong for you, because I know you need to do this. Because your dad didn’t or because you think I want you to or Rosie needs you to. The reason becomes irrelevant - the result is all that remains to live through.

I just wish… I wish it didn’t need to be this way. I wish I wasn’t like this. I don’t want you to ever know the extent of me - this part of me - because if you did, I’m certain you’d run for the hills and never look back. If you knew how deeply I  _ needed  _ you and how I felt as though I couldn’t get enough oxygen in my lungs every second you’re not here... I don’t want you to know how clingy and neurotic I can be (not to this extent, that is).

You’ve seen so many sides to me - the bold, the brave, the beautiful, the genius, the soft, even the nasty - but this is one side I’d like to keep for myself alone. Well, myself and Tanya, I suppose.

She says it’s normal, especially given my history, and that I can work through it, if I’m honest with you, but I just don’t see that being true. I don’t think I can fathom a scenario in which I’m going to be okay with you not being next to me as I sleep. Now that I have you, it hurts - sometimes quite viscerally and physically - for you to not be here. I also don’t think that speaking openly about this can help, because you’ve expressed to me so many times that we need to live our own lives if we’re to stay sane - a point I humour you on but truly, deep down, hate with all of me. I don’t want us to live separate lives. I want to coil around you and hold you down and synchronise my breathing with yours and never let you go. 

I don’t think it’s normal that, two nights ago, instead of sleeping, I was throwing up because my imagination took me too far, too fast, and I could  _ see  _ you with him. I could see your limbs entangled and you brushing his hair from his forehead the way you do to mine. And then… And then I could  _ smell  _ it: the scent of your shampoo and your sweat mixed with his unfamiliar smells and I only  _ just  _ made it to the bathroom in time. It’s not normal for my jealousy and desire to drive me to be sick, is it? 

If this is what can happen in just four days, how am I going to survive six entire months? How will  _ we  _ survive it? I know I told you, more than once, that we could do it, but, truth be told, I’m not so sure. I don’t know if we can do it. More specifically, I don’t know if  _ I  _ can do it. I can never say this to you, because then you’d know who I really am. But it’s the truth: I don’t know if I’m going to be okay being without you for six months. I’m that selfish and that insecure and that afraid. That needy.

I wish I could, and I’m going to keep on trying, but it’s one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do. 

Again, I long to know why I’m like this. Why I want to suffocate the things I love. I never want you to feel as though you don’t have room to be yourself or to breathe because of me, so I’ll continue to hide this part. 

It’s as though a part of me believes - still - that if I continue to deceive you on certain points, you won’t leave me. 

I’d rather hide from you than have you leave me.

Sherlock

**_  
\-----Draft deleted-----_ **

 


	8. Tuesday, 8 August - Email to John Watson

**To:** [ **j.h.watson@gmail.co.uk** ](mailto:j.h.watson@gmail.co.uk)

**Subject: Lover, where do you live?  
  
**

Dear John

It has been four days since you’ve been gone.

Four days, three hours and a couple of seconds.

And in that time, I’ve managed to get barely anything done. My mind has been terrible to me.

I’ve imagined so many scenarios in which certains things go wrong. I know, if you were here, you’d let me curl up into your lap and hold me while the thoughts settled down, but, for now, I just have to learn to deal with them. Horrible, intrusive thoughts. I’d like to tell you about them, but I don’t think it’d be very appropriate. All I can say is that it’s cold and lonely for me without you here, and I can’t stop myself from imagining you, there, not so cold and not so alone. I can’t stop my mind from taking over and reminding me that, while I’m here, on my own, you’re _not_.

I’m terrified of everything, it seems. But most of all, I’m terrified of losing you, in any way possible. I thought I was stronger than this, but it’s starting to look like I’m weaker than either one of us imagined. And, at 3 o’clock in the morning when everybody else in this godforsaken city seems to be in a restful sleep except me, the mind takes over. I thought London was meant to be bustling and vibrant at all hours - isn’t that what the tour books say? Why, then, do I find myself with my thoughts alone?

It would make the most sense for me to just pick up the phone and call you, I know, but speaking to you on the phone is almost unbearable. Almost as unbearable as the thought of seeing you on weekends. I know this perplexes you a little bit, but having a little bit of you and not being allowed to have it all is… very difficult for me. You know I’m an all or nothing man. Little nibbles of you, I know, would make it even harder to breathe the rest of the time.

Being apart like this is revealing all the sides of me that I’ve so long kept artfully hidden, even from you. The sides that maybe only Tanya, aside from myself, know about.

She says it’s normal, and that I can work through it, and I hope that’s true. I’ll give everything I am to make it come true.

I can’t believe it has only been four days. It feels almost like a lifetime, but I suppose that’s what it feels like to the one at home, itching, waiting, wanting.

Do you think about me, where you live? Where _do_ you live, John?

Do you sometimes look out of the window and imagine what I’m doing, as I do every night?

I’ve had three days in a row where all of me itches and, if you were here, you’d take me into your arms and quiet me because you always, _always_ know what to do when it feels this way. On the days I’m extra quiet and extra clingy and you don’t comment at all because you somehow just know exactly what I need before even I do. Like that horrible Wednesday when my veins were singing out for something to fill them and my head was drumming hateful garbage and my heart felt like it was on another continent entirely and you just took one look at me and folded my up into your grip and held me so tight I couldn’t breathe but then I suddenly _could_ breathe because everything else went away.

The worst part is sleeping without you. I slept alone for all those years, and yet I’ve somehow grown so accustomed to sleeping next to somebody - not _somebody_ ; YOU - that sleeping alone feels like a loss I can’t even begin to grieve.

Do you feel it, too?

Sherlock


	9. August 9th

Sherlock,

It feels strange to be writing you a letter again, and at the same time, it feels somehow comfortable.

I wish I wouldn’t have to, just like I know you wish it too. I wish I could whisper what I’m about to write against your lips, against your neck. Now even more than ever. I know I’ve made the choice to go, and I know you’re supporting me in that choice because you think of me before thinking about yourself. I’m not sure what to think about all this for now, and I wish I could find the words to explain how lucky it makes me feel, but at the same time, how worried too. I read your email so many times now (Julian made fun of me for hours after I received it), and I’m certain I could recite every word you wrote.

Some made me smile, and some made me want to run back to you.

I miss you, love, terribly. There isn’t a second when I’m not thinking about you, about your smile against my lips, about your body pressed against mine and your voice whispering into my ear. It seems as if my entire mind is focused on you and you only, no matter where I am. The training is interesting, and the team of doctors very nice, but  _ you’re _ not here. I come back to Rosie every evening, and she looks behind me, expecting you to be there to take her. Sometimes, I expect you to be there too, when I turn around in bed and search for you with one hand. It’s only when I find cold sheets and empty spaces that I remember where I am, and where you are.

And Sherlock, I love you so much. I can’t imagine what it must be like in 221B. I wasn’t able to stay there while you were gone, and I’m not sure I could do it now more than ever. What you’re doing for me, love, is beyond words. I love you, please never forget that I do. I love you, and I miss you, and I want nothing more than to be with you. I know you’re saying weekends are not an option, but if you ever change your mind, I’ll be there every Friday night to snuggle close against you and let our bodies find each other in many ways.

Sometimes I wonder if I managed to explain to you what this training means. I wonder if you understood why I had to go, why I made that choice even if it was breaking each and every part of me. Maybe it’s time I tell you about my father, if you haven’t already deduced it all…

Please, please reach for me when things get dark, when you feel like drowning and don’t know how to breathe anymore. I want to be there for you, in any way I can. Even if it’s just being on the phone without exchanging a single word, even if it’s just to be  _ there _ , please, find me. I love you, and I’ll come back in less than a second if you want me to. Never doubt that, love, never. And those things you chose to hide in your previous letter, whenever you’re ready, I want to hear them all.

I feel it too, Sherlock. And above all, I feel this unconditional warmth and love whenever my mind takes me back to you.

Yours,

John. 


	10. Thursday, 10 August

Before he can think twice, Sherlock hits dial. It rings only twice.

“Sherlock? What is it?” John almost trips over his own words, rushing to ask. Sherlock realises only now that it is well past 2am and he shouldn’t have worried John this way, but it’s too late now.  
  
“Everything’s alright, John.”

“Alright. But?” John’s breathing has instantly calmed a bit.

“There are things… I suppose there are some things that I feel I should say. The things you asked about in your letter, the ones I told you I’d been hiding. I just… knew that if I wrote it down in a letter or an email it would go unsent. Again, incidentally.”

“Again?”

“I wrote you an email, before, but never sent that draft. I don’t have the courage to say everything that I should say and not hear your immediate reaction. Is that okay?”

“Of course it’s okay.” Sherlock can hear the smile in John’s voice. Fond. He hopes he stays that way.

“So, let me start by saying that I’m lying in bed - our bed - and I’ve left a space for you on your side even though I know that you’re not coming. I don’t know whether it’s some kind of warped optimism or just plain habit or a sadistic sentiment. I do it every night.”

“Ah, Sh-”

“Wait, John. Just. I need to say these things, and I need you to wait until I’ve finished saying them, or I might lose my nerve. Okay?”

Silence.

“You can say okay, John,” Sherlock huffs out, rolling his eyes.

“Okay,” John agrees.

“Every night, I leave the space for you and every morning, before I’ve fully opened my eyes, a part of me, this small part that refuses to learn from negative reinforcement, expects to find you there when I wake up. And when I don’t, it feels as though my stomach has dropped and my throat is closing up and there isn’t enough air in all the world. It’s pathetic, really, because I’m having very similar reactions of grief as though you’re gone forever, when, really, you’re only on the other side of the same country and only for a couple of months. And therein lies the issue: there’s this side of me - the all-or-nothing side; the side i’ve been attempting to hide from you from the beginning, or at least to subdue - that is utterly consumed by you and by the absence of you. There have even been two separate occasions in which I’ve been physically sick because of this. And I’m not saying it to get you to rush home or to feel sorry for me; I just want to be honest with you. I know you’re there for a reason - your dad or whatever it is that I haven’t fully deduced because you keep it under lock and key. For whatever reason, though, once I say yes to something, I can’t turn it off. It’s not like a switch, not really, but it’s kind of like a faulty mechanism where everything gets turned up to high and it becomes overwhelming eventually. And that’s how I feel about you, especially now that you’re not here. I feel it so much - too much - and I don’t know how not to. I never wanted to be this clingy, needy stereotype, but I find myself unable to prevent it. It’s just… deep down, right at the heart of it, I’m so terrified of losing you that I can think of not much else. I imagine scenario upon scenario where you don’t come home or you fall in love with someone else over there - Julian, mostly - or simply fall out of love with me and it makes even breathing undoable. Believe me, I know this is not an attractive admission, and I’d understand if you saw me quite differently after this, but I just needed to get it out, because we promised to be honest and I didn’t want to go back on that promise just because you aren’t here. I still want this to work, hard as it may be. Which is why… which is why I’ve been thinking… that maybe we should have a break. From us. Just for a little while; maybe for the duration of your training. I don’t know, maybe it will make it easier for me to be able to breathe…” Something in Sherlock snaps, just then, at the confession of not being okay and the reminder of that horrible feeling, and his voice cracks, eyes welling up lightly. “I just want to be able to breathe again, John, to remember how…”

The tears are rolling down his cheeks freely now, and he can hear John’s sympathetic sigh on the other end.

“Can I sp-” John starts, but Sherlock is quick to interrupt.

“That’s all I wanted to say, really. That’s almost all of it, I reckon. I have to go now,” he chokes out on a whisper, voice too unsteady to trust.

“Nope,” John asserts. “You’re not going anywhere, Sherlock.”

“I can’t - I can’t talk about this right now,” he whimpers, near-hyperventilating.

“Sherlock, love, I need you to breathe for me,” John says in the softest, most soothing voice and Sherlock hates him for it in that moment, because it makes him break more. “Shh, love, it’s going to be alright, I promise. Look, I’ll come up there this weekend and we can talk this out. Maybe I can come back for good.”

“No! That’s the last thing I want! For you to have to come back because of me. Because I’m this way!” Sherlock hates himself, hates that he has no control over this part of him. The part where sentiment looks an awful lot like peril.

“Listen, love, I’d rather come back than have you feeling this way,” John states, ever the pragmatist.

“I don’t want you to come back, John,” Sherlock insists. “If you did that, I’d never forgive myself. I’d never be okay with it, not ever.”

John is silent for a moment.

“Then what do you propose we do? I can’t stay here if I know that this is what you’re going through.”

“A break. Like I proposed. Just… just for now or until you’re done.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea, love,” John sighs.

“I do. Maybe if I didn’t have you or the idea of you niggling at the back of my mind at every godforsaken hour I’d be able to get on with my life a little bit.”

“Is that what you want? To get on with your life?”

“No not… Not like that. Just to be able to solve cases and eat food and sleep at the right times. To stop hurting all the time.”

“Sherlock, you have to understand that taking a break won’t change anything. It isn’t going to make it go away.”

“It has to!” Sherlock yells, disrupting the semi-peace of the early morning around him.

John huffs out a sigh - frustration - but at him or at the situation? Sherlock can’t tell.

“Sherlock,” John says, and he sounds like the soldier, and the friend, and the confidante, and it makes Sherlock feel slightly less erratic. “This is what we’re going to do right now, love. We’re not going to solve this or argue it out. We’re going to go to sleep. Together. On this damn phone. You’re going to listen to me breathing and I’m going to listen to you breathing and eventually sleep will come and we’ll sort this out tomorrow. Alright?”

Sherlock hesitates, mostly out of stubbornness, because falling asleep with the sound of John’s inhales and exhales sounds better than morphine right now.

“Alright?” John insists.

“Fine,” Sherlock breathes out.

“I love you, my love. Remember that.” John is soft pillows and warm blankets and radiant sunsets and Sherlock begins to cry again.

“I love you, too,” he whispers.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, John.”

It takes him a long time, but eventually, Sherlock falls asleep, his phone still cradled in the nook of his shoulder.

When he wakes up, the call is cut but he has an unread email.


	11. Thursday, 10th August - Email to Sherlock Holmes

**To:** s.holmes@thescienceofdeduction.co.uk

**Subject:** Wait for me, love.

 

Sherlock,

I’m listening to your breathing as I write these words, knowing you finally fell asleep in our bed, but also aware that you had to face my empty side of the bed doing so.

It’s all my fault, love.

I should have stayed, should have understood what it meant for you and how affected you were going to be. I’m supposed to take care of you, Sherlock. I’m supposed to be there, to make sure no one hurts you, and that includes me. I’m hurting you as I write this email, love, and there is this ache spreading throughout my entire chest as I realise just how much. I love you,  _ God _ , I love you. It takes my breath away, just thinking about you at the most random times of my days. You’re all I can think about, Sherlock, all the time. I can’t focus on my training, can’t focus on what people tell me, can’t even focus on Rosie properly because there’s this part of me that stayed at Baker Street with you.

And a break won’t change any of it, love.

It would only make it worse, because it’ll meant that we - that I - failed you. That I wasn’t able to love you enough, to show you exactly just how much I crave you, to make you understand that just hearing your broken voice offering this alternative over the phone made me want to leave everything and run back to you.

So no.

I refuse this solution that really isn’t one at all. Yes, it hurts, and you’re right, there are still so many things I have yet to tell you. But I want to be able to, love. I want to tell you everything, and I want to whisper all of them to you, in our bed.

It is too late now to say anything more than I love you, I love, I love you.

I’ll be home tomorrow night, please, wait for me.

Yours,

John.


	12. Thursday 10 August - Text thread with John Watson

**09:05**

I just received your email. I’m so sorry about last night. SH

**09:07**

There’s nothing to be sorry about, love.

Are you alright?

**09:07**

Sort of. It helped to get it out there, at least. I just didn’t mean to burden you with all of that. SH

 

**09:08**

It’s really not a burden.

I’m glad you called, we need to talk about all this.

And I’m so sorry, Sherlock. So sorry.

**09:09**

You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about. This is all me. SH

**09:09**

No.

It doesn’t matter really who’s to blame. 

The important thing is that we’re fixing this, together.

Alright?

**09:10**

Why are you so good to me? SH

**09:10**

Because you are that good to me.

I love you.

**09:11**

I love you. And I’ll see you tomorrow, then? SH

**09:12  
** **  
** Yes. Tomorrow.

I’ll leave as soon as training is over.

I miss you, so much.

**09:12**

God, I miss you. SH

I’ll see you tomorrow, then. SH

Will Rosie be joining you? SH

**09:13**

Yes, she misses you too, you know.

**09:13**

I can’t wait to see her. SH

And you. SH

Obviously. SH

**09:14**

Obviously ;)

Sorry, no smiley faces.

I’ll text you when I’m on the train, alright?

**09:14**

Alright. SH

I love you. SH

**09:15**

I love you. 


	13. Weekend, part one

John hands the cabbie his money quickly, one hand carefully holding Rosie close to his chest. It feels as if he left Julian’s place hours ago, the train going agonisingly slowly all the way back here, and of course the traffic inside London had been a nightmare. But he's finally home. Sherlock is just a few stairs away, waiting for him, and John can't seem to get there fast enough. He gets out of the cab in a rush, hands shaking as he opens the front door and he climbs the stairs all the way up to Rosie’s room, putting her safely in her cot before going back downstairs as quickly as possible. He forces himself to calm down before opening the door to their kitchen, letting the familiar scent fill his head and the sudden feeling of happiness sink in. 

"Sherlock?" he calls, already moving around the flat, desperate to feel Sherlock's lips pressed against his own, but finds no one in the sitting room and kitchen.

"Sherlock?" he tries again, getting inside the bathroom as he loses his jacket and shoes. Doesn't matter where he leaves them, because Sherlock is probably right behind that last door, most likely in their bed, and John can't seem to be able to breathe properly anymore.

"Love?" he whispers, opening the door slowly, and the sight before him makes his entire body shiver.

Sherlock is lying on his side of the bed, fast asleep, both arms wrapped around John's pillow. He looks so peaceful, and yet John notices the worried lines around his eyes immediately. A knot forming in his chest, John carefully steps closer, letting his jumper fall on the floor quietly. He smiles, one hand brushing away some of Sherlock's curls from his forehead, and with his heart pounding in his ears, he leans down to leave a soft kiss there. "I'm home, love," he murmurs, not actually wanting to wake him up.

Without a sound, he goes to the other side of the bed, lying down behind Sherlock and slowly sliding one arm around his waist. He pulls him closer, Sherlock stirring in his sleep without waking, and John finds himself smiling even more. "I've missed you," he continues to whisper. "I've missed you so much."

Sherlock moans softly, snuggling closer to him even in his sleep, and John closes his eyes. He's not sure how long he remains there, awake and trying to engrave this very moment into his memory, but when he falls asleep too, it's to Sherlock's familiar scent surrounding him.

It is to soft kisses left all over his face that John wakes up, not sure exactly how long he managed to sleep.

"You're home," Sherlock breathes against his cheek, and John fully wakes up, eyes fluttering open. "You're home," Sherlock says again, something close to wonder in his voice, and John presses him closer, if possible.

"I am," he replies in a breath.

Sherlock's hands are grasped around his shirt, holding tightly against him, "Home," he says, his voice breaking into a sob, and John presses his own lips against his face.

"I'm here, love," he whispers. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Sherlock is shaking now, his entire body so very fragile in John's arms.

"Look at me, love, look at me." It takes a long moment before Sherlock manages to focus long enough to stare right at him, and John traces his lower lips with his thumb. "I love you, Sherlock."

Sherlock seems to come alive under these words, and all but smashes their mouths together. John moans into the touch, letting Sherlock part his lips and meet his tongue in the middle. It's all too fast, all too desperate, and all too bloody brilliant. John kisses him back just as hungrily, pouring all his love, all of his regrets into the kiss and hoping Sherlock can feel all of it. His entire body still shaking, Sherlock holds on tighter to him, and without realising it, John starts to soften the kiss, letting their lips part and meet in quiet, tender kisses that make his heart ache.

"I love you," he whispers into Sherlock's mouth. "Please, forgive me."

"John," Sherlock breathes out, both hands now cupping his face. "You came back."

"I should have never left," John says, foolishly wishing he could somehow turn back time and do it all over again, properly this time.

"You came back," Sherlock says again, as if that’s the only thing that matters, and John holds on to it.

They remain close for what could be either hours or seconds, lips meeting over and over again. John tries not think about the conversation hanging above them, the one neither of them can escape, and lets the warmth of Sherlock's body fill all the empty places inside him that had remained in that bed when he left. 


	14. Weekend, part two

Their kissing grows frantic, the heat between them never having cooled despite their time apart. The air around them is crisp and quiet, and it's as though they're suspended in a bubble of space and time, one where there is no future to fret over, only a now to live through, moment by moment, together. 

John breaks apart to make quick work of the buttons on his shirt and throws it over the bed. Sherlock just looks at him, in awe of the physical weight of him, the magnitude his very presence carries with him. He smiles lightly, his eyes welling up in the corners. He never imagined, not ever, that another human being could make him feel this way, but John defies all the cold reason he once held so high. 

“Hey,” John whispers, breaking his reverie. He strokes Sherlock’s cheek and the look in his eyes is so full of fondness that a tear escapes down the side of Sherlock’s nose, over his top lip. John leans forward to capture it in a kiss, tugging Sherlock’s t shirt up at the same time. They pull apart briefly to discard of it and John pulls Sherlock’s pants down, too. 

“I need you,” John moans and it shoots right to Sherlock’s stomach, the hunger and want. 

“Need you too, John,” Sherlock sighs as John recaptures his mouth, hard and desperate. 

John pulls his trousers and pants down without breaking their embrace and Sherlock shivers as he pushes them to lie on their sides, their bodies skating against each other, igniting something almost feral within Sherlock that he has missed, oh how he has  _ missed this _ . 

Kissing a path down his jaw and neck, John takes a hold of Sherlock’s hand and guides it behind him, to his entrance. 

Sherlock immediately breaks the kiss, a look of confusion overwhelming his features. 

“Please, love. Just. I need you. I need to give you this,” John moans, his voice sounding as broken as Sherlock has felt for the past days of his absence. 

“Yes,” Sherlock breathes out, and he lets John grab the conveniently-placed (thanks to Sherlock’s optimistic forward-thinking) lube from the bedside table. 

He looks Sherlock square in the eyes as he coats his fingers for him, and a little shiver of desire runs down his spine in anticipation. They've never done this. It's always been an unspoken preference that John is the one to claim and conquer, even when Sherlock is the one controlling their movements on lazy Sunday afternoons, riding John to completion. This is different. Special. Sherlock doesn't take it lightly. He rolls John onto his back and places a pillow under his hips, leaning down to kiss him hungrily once more. He's so achingly hard already that he knows he probably won't last long, the mere thought of what they're about to do threatening to overwhelm him very, very quickly. 

Sherlock presses one slicked finger to John’s entrance, working him open slowly and not inefficiently as John moans into his mouth. Soon, he has two and then three fingers inside, and John looks like an utter wreck. Sherlock opens and closes his fingers in a scissoring motion, stretching John as much as possible. 

Feeling around a bit, Sherlock crooks his fingers slightly and John clenches around them immediately, gasping. 

“Too much?” Sherlock asks softly. 

“Too much,” John agrees, and Sherlock decides to file it away for another time, another exploration. Right now, he's too hungry to be patient. He wants - needs - to claim, to mark, to  _ have.  _

He releases his fingers slowly, leaving John looking thoroughly debauched already beneath him and lines his hips up. 

“Ready?” 

“God, yes,” John says, and it reminds Sherlock of cases and sun against glass and adrenaline-fueled adoration, and he pushes in, slowly at first, but when John bears down, he takes the hint and, before long, he's fully seated. 

“John,” he whispers in awe, staring down at where he's connected - the most he can be - to John. “I’m. I’m inside you.” 

“Yes, love. Now  _ move  _ for me,” John growls, and something wild takes over in Sherlock, his hips beginning to jerk and stutter of their own accord as he licks and bites John’s collarbone, marking everywhere he can. 

“You're  _ mine,  _ John,” he says roughly, the intensity of his love spurring him to lay claim to the object of it. 

“Yes. Yours,” John pants breathlessly, and Sherlock takes his neglected, leaking cock in his hand, pumping in rhythm with their now-erratic movements. 

“I love you. So much. So fucking much,” Sherlock breathes into John’s mouth and John comes at that, spurting all over his own stomach, his muscles contracting in a way that feels delicious for Sherlock, who follows soon after. If he didn't know any better, he would swear that he's the one making bitten-out cries, disturbing the still, early morning atmosphere. 

When he comes back to himself, he pulls out, limp and sated. He can do no more than flop down on John, not caring about the mess between them. 

“Let me clean up. Sh- Sherlock!” John exclaims fondly as Sherlock squeezes himself into the spaces of John, holding on tighter the more he tries to make a move for Sherlock’s t shirt. He reaches over instead, handing John the garment and settling back in, making the bare minimum amount of movements necessary to aid John in getting them clean. 

Finally -  _ finally  _ \- John tosses the t shirt on the floor and gathers Sherlock in his arms, kissing him on the head and holding him as though he's a precious, fragile thing. 

“I'm surprised you were asleep. Thought you'd have been waiting up for me,” John teases, poking him in the ribs lightly. 

“I, uh, I haven't been able to sleep much lately,” Sherlock confesses softly, “But I knew you were coming and I thought I'd wait for you in bed. I suppose the fact that you were on your way enabled me to rest for a bit.”

John doesn't say anything, just smoothes Sherlock’s hair back from his forehead and plants a series of kisses there. 

“Thank you,” Sherlock whispers against John’s chest, barely a breath. 

“Always,” John replies softly before sleep claims both of them. 


	15. Weekend, part three

The next time he wakes up, John finds Sherlock still fast asleep next to him. He smiles, remembering the moment they shared just a few hours ago and finding himself regretting not having given  _ this _ to Sherlock before. They both needed it in the end, each of them for their own reasons, but most of all, to reaffirm that they’re in this  _ together _ . Sherlock’s confession is still haunting him, the words he spoke over the phone engraved in John’s memory now, and he can’t help but think he could have avoided all of this mess. He should have known Sherlock would worry about Julian; for God’s sake, he would have gone crazy if Sherlock had stayed at another man’s place for six bloody months. 

Closing his eyes for just a second, John allows himself to breathe it all in. He’s home, lying next to Sherlock and about to spend the entire weekend with him. This is all that matters, and he intends the make the most of it. As soon as Sherlock wakes up, they’re going to spend the day being  _ them _ , and at some point, he’s going to find the courage to ask Sherlock the question he hasn’t been able to get out of his head ever since that phone call.

“John?” Sherlock calls suddenly, sounding all too panicked, and John hurries to make his presence known right away.

He slides both arms around Sherlock’s waist, his lips finding Sherlock’s temple, “Morning, love.” Sherlock’s eyes are roaming over his face, hurried and still just a bit worried, and John gives him the time to realise he’s actually there. “Sleep well?”

Sherlock nods slowly. “You’re really here.”

John smiles, brushing their lips together, “I’m here.”

Sherlock holds onto him tighter. “Last night, you… What we did…”

“Last night was brilliant,” John says, meaning it with all his heart. “I love you.”

Sherlock stares at him for a moment longer before smiling and leaning back for another kiss. They indulge in quiet kisses and soft caresses for as long as possible, and when Rosie’s first cries make their way downstairs, Sherlock is up in less than a second. “I’m going!”

John laughs as he watches him get dressed quickly, practically running out of the room and up the stairs. After that, John can only hear him greet Rosie and talk to her for long minutes. He lets himself linger in bed for another moment before getting up and going out to prepare some breakfast. He listens absently to Sherlock and Rosie upstairs while boiling Rosie’s bottle, and starts to make some toast for the two of them.

It doesn’t take much longer for Sherlock to come back downstairs, and after that John can’t help but feel as if he never left. Rosie spends the entire time mumbling to either herself or Sherlock who makes sure to always reply. John watches and laughs and lets the moment make all his worries fade away. Breakfast is over almost too quickly, and when Sherlock offers to go take a walk in the park, John can’t agree fast enough.

They get ready fast. John does his best to keep his eyes to himself, knowing he’ll jump on Sherlock if he lets them linger on his naked body for too long. It doesn’t stop him from catching Sherlock’s stare on him, and by the time they’re both dressed, John can’t help but feel ridiculously happy. Sherlock takes his hand as soon as they’re outside, pushing Rosie’s trolley with the other hand. They fall silent, neither of them saying a word all the way to the park, and even then, John watches in silences as Sherlock puts Rosie down on the grass before sitting on a bench. John waits another second before going to sit next to him.

“I’m sorry about the phone call,” Sherlock finally says.

John turns to look at him. “You don’t have apologize, love.”

“No, I do,” Sherlock sighs. “I panicked, and I don’t want you to think that I don’t trust you, because I do, I swear I do, but I couldn’t stop thinking and then there were all these pictures in my head and-”

“Sherlock, love, stop,” John cuts him off, cupping his head and stroking his cheeks slowly. “I know you trust me, just like I know there are some things we can’t control. I shouldn’t have stayed with Julian, it was a bad idea from the start, and I’m sorry.”

Sherlock sighs, eyes fluttering close as he leans into the touch.

“You have to understand,” John continues, “There wasn’t even a single second when I thought of Julian the way I think about you all the time. I’m certain he never did either. He’s always been supportive of our relationship, especially since we started exchanging letters and trying to fix things.”

Sherlock looks back at him. “I should have been more supportive too.”

“You are, love,” John smiles. “You’ve let me go despite not wanting to. You did this for me, to make me happy, and for that, I’ll forever be grateful.” John leans down to kiss him, softly. “I never should have left, but I did. I did and now we have to find a solution, anything to avoid letting either of us feel like this again.”

Sherlock nods slowly, “A solution.”

John smiles, stealing another kiss from his lips, “A solution.”


	16. Weekend, part four

The rest of the day passes in a kind of ordinary bliss, Sherlock in his element having all of John’s attention and being able to look after Rosie. He takes her to a small, boutique toy store after the park and shows her all the bright toys that are just on the wrong side of her age-group (he has a secret theory that it will make her develop faster) while John just watches them, smiling to himself. He could get lost in this, just the three of them. Every time he looks down at Rosie a decision solidifies more and more in his mind. Eventually, she chooses a set of big, clunky, loud plastic car keys that Sherlock enthusiastically buys for her and they all go home, strolling through the city they love without any rush.

During Rosie’s afternoon nap, they place her in her cot upstairs and settle on the sofa, John leaning with his head back and closing his eyes. Sherlock looks at him and he can’t believe how happy he is, right in this moment, with the love of his life sitting next to him. He shuffles closer to John, takes his hand and curls around him, putting his head on his shoulder. 

“You okay, love?” John asks softly.

“Mmm. More than okay. Thank you for coming home, John,” Sherlock murmurs, rubbing his cheek against the cotton shirt, getting lost in the sensation.

“Of course. I couldn’t just leave you here alone, knowing how you felt.”

John lets go of Sherlock’s hand to bring both his arms around his back and holds him tight. Sherlock snuggles closer.

“John?” Sherlock says softly, his confidence having abandoned him.

“Yes, love?”

“Did you mean what you said? About Julian? I don’t mean to belabour the point, I just…” he trails off, not knowing exactly what he wants to say or how to say it.

“Julian is just a friend, that’s all. Both of us see it that way, of that I’m sure. But yes, I never should have stayed with him. It was a stupid and rash decision on my part. Forgive me,” John says softly, kissing Sherlock’s temple and ear and neck - anything in reach. “I’m thinking of looking for somewhere else to rent when I get back.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m possessive or unnecessarily jealous. I… I really try not to be. I really do,” Sherlock says softly.

“Sherlock, to be honest, the thought of you living with another human being for six months makes me preemptively jealous. It’s normal, love. What we have is still new and we’re figuring it out and we’re going to make mistakes, but together we’ll learn and we’ll correct things when they go wrong.”

Sherlock smiles to himself, inwardly proud of all the progress they’ve. Separately and together. 

“Do you think… You don’t have to answer now, love,” John says, nudging Sherlock off of his shoulder and taking his chin in his hands so that they’re face to face. “You can answer whenever you want, actually, but… Would you maybe want to come down there while I finish up with my training? I know you’ve got a life here and I know it’s selfish of me to even ask and I truly feel like a right prat for even  _ thinking  _ of expecting you to say yes, but I think it might be a good solution. You can say no, of course, and I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“John,” Sherlock whispers, smiling lightly, looking right into John’s blue-grey eyes. 

“Is that a yes?” John smiles back, licking his lips.

“Yes,” Sherlock breathes, and their lips meet immediately, a languid slide illuminating the love they have for each other.

“Good.” John looks extremely pleased with himself, and Sherlock can’t help but kiss the smile off his mouth, catching him by surprise and almost knocking the breath out of him. He lifts himself up and hooks one leg around John’s lap, straddling him, deepening the kiss.

“I love you, John. I’m the luckiest man in the world, just by virtue of the fact that you’re mine and I’m yours,” Sherlock whispers against John’s mouth.

John leans back, a look of mock surprise overtaking his features. “Sherlock Holmes, the romantic. Just wait until the readers of my blog get a taste of this.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Sherlock threatens, but there’s no heat to it.

“People  _ do _ want to know the real you,” John teases and before long, they’re both dissolving into giggles, which naturally dissolve into more kisses.


	17. Chapter 17

John cuts the call, looking down at the phone in his hand and smiling.  _ That’s done _ , he thinks. He hadn’t really doubted that Julian would understand, and after John had explained everything to him, he even offered to contact a friend who’s renting some apartments. In no time now, Sherlock will be with him and they’re going to be a family again. Looking back up, John waves at Rosie who’s playing in Sherlock’s arms while he’s trying to read her bedtime story. 

“She knows she’s going to leave you tomorrow,” John says, walking toward them. “She doesn’t want to go to sleep.”

Sherlock glances up at him from the book, “She’s clever.”

John nods, leaning down to kiss Rosie’s temple and then Sherlock’s.

“I’ll go finish packing,” he murmurs. “I’m sure she’ll sleep if you play for her.”

Sherlock smiles, looking back at Rosie. “Good idea.”

John kisses him one last time before turning around and going back to the bedroom. He had almost finished packing their bags during the afternoon, but then Rosie had fallen asleep and they had found a much better way to spent the afternoon in bed. God, he had missed this. Hours spent in bed, discovering all of each other again and again.  _ Soon we’ll be doing just that whenever we want again _ .

The sound of Sherlock’s violin coming from the living room brings him back to reality, and John stares down at the half packed suitcase. He knows he has to finish packing, they’re leaving quite early tomorrow, but even though they’ve decided that Sherlock is coming to join them soon, it still feels as if he’s leaving him behind all over again. 

“She’s sleeping,” comes Sherlock’s voice from behind him, and John turns to face him, smiling.

“Told you,” he replies. “You put her in her bed?”

Sherlock nods, glancing at the suitcase before turning back around. John forces himself to throw the last pieces of clothing inside his bag before putting it down on the floor and kicking it away from the bed. He doesn’t have to touch it until tomorrow morning, and for now, he can forget about the train and the search for a place to live for a few more hours. 

Just as he’s about to head to the bathroom, Sherlock comes back into the room, immediately closing both arms around him and nuzzling his face against John’s neck. 

“Hey,” John breathes. “Are you alright?”

“How long?” Sherlock replies.

John closes his eyes, “Two, maybe three weeks. I need to find a place, and then fill in the paperwork. But after that, you’re taking the first train and joining us.”

Sherlock exhales loudly, “Yes. Alright.”

John kisses his temple. “Thank you for doing this. You really didn’t have to leave Baker Street and your cases behind."

Sherlock pulls away just enough to look at him, “You’re far more important, John. The both of you are. You should know by now that you are my home, not this place.”

John leans in for kiss, letting their mouths meet and part for a long moment before saying, “I love you, Sherlock Holmes, and even if I’m happy you chose to come with us, I cannot wait for us to be back here and really start our life as a family in this flat.”

Sherlock snuggles back close again, and John is able to feel his smile against his neck. They remain silent for a minute more, simply breathing each other in, and in this very instant, John knows they’ve truly found their way to each other. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here goes the end of this second part.
> 
> Thank you for all your kudos, comments and support through this story, and we hope you enjoyed reading this series as much as we enjoyed writing it!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


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